Alexandra Bogdanovic's Blog: That's life..., page 8
August 29, 2014
These are a few of my favorite things
Judging by the number of views last week's post got, the topic clearly resonated with a lot of you.
And while I appreciate your support, it left me in a bit of a pickle. How can I top that? I've been thinking. The answer is, I probably can't. So I decided to shift gears this week.
After all, even I can only rant and rave so much.
So without further ado, here are my all-time favorite quotes about writing, reading and related activities. Enjoy!
--------------------
1. Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. ― Benjamin Franklin
2. There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
― Ernest Hemingway
3. If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. ― Toni Morrison
4. Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. ― Louis L'Amour
5. I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. ― Anne Frank
6. The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go. ― Dr. Seuss
7. Classic - a book which people praise and don't read. ― Mark Twain
8. If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that. ― Stephen King
9. You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them. ― Ray Bradbury
10. Readers are not sheep, and not every pen tempts them. ― Vladimir Nabokov
11. Read a lot, write a lot is the great commandment. ― Stephen King
12. She has learned to love. To fear. To hate. And then to love again. Through it all, she writes. ~Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl ― Kimberly Kinrade
Until next time, "That's life..."
And while I appreciate your support, it left me in a bit of a pickle. How can I top that? I've been thinking. The answer is, I probably can't. So I decided to shift gears this week.
After all, even I can only rant and rave so much.
So without further ado, here are my all-time favorite quotes about writing, reading and related activities. Enjoy!
--------------------
1. Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing. ― Benjamin Franklin
2. There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
― Ernest Hemingway
3. If there's a book that you want to read, but it hasn't been written yet, then you must write it. ― Toni Morrison
4. Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on. ― Louis L'Amour
5. I can shake off everything as I write; my sorrows disappear, my courage is reborn. ― Anne Frank
6. The more that you read, the more things you will know. The more that you learn, the more places you'll go. ― Dr. Seuss
7. Classic - a book which people praise and don't read. ― Mark Twain
8. If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that. ― Stephen King
9. You don't have to burn books to destroy a culture. Just get people to stop reading them. ― Ray Bradbury
10. Readers are not sheep, and not every pen tempts them. ― Vladimir Nabokov
11. Read a lot, write a lot is the great commandment. ― Stephen King
12. She has learned to love. To fear. To hate. And then to love again. Through it all, she writes. ~Once Upon A Time There Was A Girl ― Kimberly Kinrade
Until next time, "That's life..."
August 21, 2014
The other side of the story
I have got to stop watching the evening news. And listening to the radio. And reading the newspaper.
Twenty-first century journalism -- or should I say, what passes for journalism these days -- isn't good for my blood pressure. In fact, as a former reporter, it makes my blood boil.
You see, when I began working at a daily newspaper as a high school freshman back in the 1980s, journalists still believed in fairness and objectivity. That meant getting both sides of the story. No matter what.
Throughout a career that spanned more than two decades, fairness and objectivity weren't just words I lived by -- they formed the philosophy and ethos I tried to embody.
That's not to say I didn't have strong personal feelings about the issues that I covered, or that I didn't form friendships with sources. It simply meant that I worked twice as hard not to let personal feelings or personal relationships influence the way I did my job.
As I saw it, it was my job to present "Side A," "Side B," and even "Side C" and "Side D," when necessary. It was then up to the reader to decide what to believe.
It was a philosophy I embraced not only as an award-winning reporter, but as the author of my memoir, "Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey."
Sadly, that philosophy has fallen out of favor not only in the world of mainstream, corporate journalism, but in community journalism as well.
The only news that matters these days is the news that "sells." Sanctimonious, self-righteous and self-important "journalists" no longer care about getting the story right, as long as they get it first. They tell the world what to think in 10-second soundbites and Internet blurbs. And the world laps it up. There is no such thing as critical thought.
You don't believe me? Then just pick up a newspaper... or listen to the radio... or watch the evening news. And tell me what you think.
Until next time, "That's life..."
Twenty-first century journalism -- or should I say, what passes for journalism these days -- isn't good for my blood pressure. In fact, as a former reporter, it makes my blood boil.
You see, when I began working at a daily newspaper as a high school freshman back in the 1980s, journalists still believed in fairness and objectivity. That meant getting both sides of the story. No matter what.
Throughout a career that spanned more than two decades, fairness and objectivity weren't just words I lived by -- they formed the philosophy and ethos I tried to embody.
That's not to say I didn't have strong personal feelings about the issues that I covered, or that I didn't form friendships with sources. It simply meant that I worked twice as hard not to let personal feelings or personal relationships influence the way I did my job.
As I saw it, it was my job to present "Side A," "Side B," and even "Side C" and "Side D," when necessary. It was then up to the reader to decide what to believe.
It was a philosophy I embraced not only as an award-winning reporter, but as the author of my memoir, "Truth Be Told: Adam Becomes Audrey."
Sadly, that philosophy has fallen out of favor not only in the world of mainstream, corporate journalism, but in community journalism as well.
The only news that matters these days is the news that "sells." Sanctimonious, self-righteous and self-important "journalists" no longer care about getting the story right, as long as they get it first. They tell the world what to think in 10-second soundbites and Internet blurbs. And the world laps it up. There is no such thing as critical thought.
You don't believe me? Then just pick up a newspaper... or listen to the radio... or watch the evening news. And tell me what you think.
Until next time, "That's life..."
August 14, 2014
It's unbelievable...
The news stops you dead in your tracks. Shock sets in. Numbness follows. There is denial -- and there are questions.
You wonder why. How? Why?
You are angry. You are sad. In your grief you cannot shake the nagging questions that will forever go unanswered. Still, you wonder why. How could this happen? Why?
You've just learned that a friend committed suicide. It is incomprehensible, but all too real.
When I was 18, a friend and mentor killed himself by jumping in front of an Amtrak train just blocks away from my house. The sound of a blasting train horn haunts me to this day.
I still miss him. And although I know why he took his life, I still don't understand. In some ways, I hope I never will.
Yes, the death of Robin Williams brings back painful memories. With millions I grieve for a man I never knew, but who nevertheless had a deep and lasting impact on my life.
In a blogtalk radio interview about my memoir just last Friday, I shared that my favorite all-time movie is Dead Poets Society. In it, Williams portrayed a maverick teacher who dared young men to embrace the world of literature, their identities and their individualism.
The film was a fantastic statement about the power of words and the power of non-conformity. The message was delivered by a truly unique and amazing individual.
Rest In Peace, Mr. Williams.
Until next time, "That's life..."
You wonder why. How? Why?
You are angry. You are sad. In your grief you cannot shake the nagging questions that will forever go unanswered. Still, you wonder why. How could this happen? Why?
You've just learned that a friend committed suicide. It is incomprehensible, but all too real.
When I was 18, a friend and mentor killed himself by jumping in front of an Amtrak train just blocks away from my house. The sound of a blasting train horn haunts me to this day.
I still miss him. And although I know why he took his life, I still don't understand. In some ways, I hope I never will.
Yes, the death of Robin Williams brings back painful memories. With millions I grieve for a man I never knew, but who nevertheless had a deep and lasting impact on my life.
In a blogtalk radio interview about my memoir just last Friday, I shared that my favorite all-time movie is Dead Poets Society. In it, Williams portrayed a maverick teacher who dared young men to embrace the world of literature, their identities and their individualism.
The film was a fantastic statement about the power of words and the power of non-conformity. The message was delivered by a truly unique and amazing individual.
Rest In Peace, Mr. Williams.
Until next time, "That's life..."
August 8, 2014
A 'doghouse' confession
I have a confession to make. I committed an egregious sin this week...
But before we go any further, let me set the record straight. It is not a sin worthy of disclosure to a priest, nor is it anything morally reprehensible.
Come to think of it, Eli is probably the only one who really thinks I've committed a sin at all. But before we go any further, there's something you should know about Eli. He's my cat. And the "sin" I committed was trying to clip his claws.
Now those of you who don't have pets -- or more specifically, those of you who don't have cats -- are probably wondering why that's such a big deal. Just trust me, it is.
For my 8-1/2 year-old buff and white American Domestic Short Hair cat, claw clipping is the single worst thing that can possibly happen. Well, aside from missing a meal, of course.
In fact Eli, who also weighs in at a relatively hefty 14 pounds, hates having his claws clipped so much that his old vet had to sedate him in order to get the job done.
To make a long story short, let's just say that for various reasons Eli hasn't been to the vet for a while. And let's just say that for reasons known only to him, he failed to heed repeated warnings about sharpening his claws on the sofa.
So when he sunk his claws into the sofa on Wednesday night, I'd finally had enough. I picked him up, put him in my lap, and successfully clipped one claw. Eli then had what can only be described as a screaming, yowling, hissy fit. He also used a few of his exceedingly long claws to express his displeasure.
Wounded, I decided the fight wasn't worthwhile, and let him go. Not surprisingly, with tail lashing and hackles raised, he stalked away.
And not surprisingly, I felt horrible about what happened. I tried to give him his space. I tried to apologize. But he rebuffed each attempt with flattened ears and a warning hiss. After several hours, he deigned to eat some treats out of my hand, but rejected further peace offerings.
"Wow, he's really mad," I told my mom. "I guess I'm really in the doghouse."
Until next time, "That's life..."
But before we go any further, let me set the record straight. It is not a sin worthy of disclosure to a priest, nor is it anything morally reprehensible.
Come to think of it, Eli is probably the only one who really thinks I've committed a sin at all. But before we go any further, there's something you should know about Eli. He's my cat. And the "sin" I committed was trying to clip his claws.
Now those of you who don't have pets -- or more specifically, those of you who don't have cats -- are probably wondering why that's such a big deal. Just trust me, it is.
For my 8-1/2 year-old buff and white American Domestic Short Hair cat, claw clipping is the single worst thing that can possibly happen. Well, aside from missing a meal, of course.
In fact Eli, who also weighs in at a relatively hefty 14 pounds, hates having his claws clipped so much that his old vet had to sedate him in order to get the job done.
To make a long story short, let's just say that for various reasons Eli hasn't been to the vet for a while. And let's just say that for reasons known only to him, he failed to heed repeated warnings about sharpening his claws on the sofa.
So when he sunk his claws into the sofa on Wednesday night, I'd finally had enough. I picked him up, put him in my lap, and successfully clipped one claw. Eli then had what can only be described as a screaming, yowling, hissy fit. He also used a few of his exceedingly long claws to express his displeasure.
Wounded, I decided the fight wasn't worthwhile, and let him go. Not surprisingly, with tail lashing and hackles raised, he stalked away.
And not surprisingly, I felt horrible about what happened. I tried to give him his space. I tried to apologize. But he rebuffed each attempt with flattened ears and a warning hiss. After several hours, he deigned to eat some treats out of my hand, but rejected further peace offerings.
"Wow, he's really mad," I told my mom. "I guess I'm really in the doghouse."
Until next time, "That's life..."
August 1, 2014
Friendship
For some reason my friends are on my mind quite a bit these days. Perhaps it's because I haven't seen any of them for a while -- although that's hardly unusual.
Some of my closest friends live in other states. Some live nearby. But geography isn't the issue. All of us are busy.
Lately it seems we've all been extremely busy. Too busy to return phone calls. Too busy to return texts. Too caught up in the stress and frenetic pace of 21st century life to put our own issues aside.
It's not an indictment. I'm not upset. In fact I've never judged or based friendships solely on the amount of time people are willing to invest. I measure them against far more intrinsic values.
My dearest friends aren't the people I've known the longest or those that I hang out with most. They are the people who have been loyal through thick and thin. They've put up with the drama and they've never hesitated to give me a swift kick in the butt when I needed one most. They haven't asked me to trust them. They've just shown that I can.
There's a fierce, unspoken bond. I know they've always got my back. And I'll always have theirs.
My closest friends are an elite group. I can count them on one hand.
As I do, I remember something my father always said. He told me that you'll be lucky to have a few truly good friends in life.
I am definitely a lucky girl.
Until next time, "That's life..."
Some of my closest friends live in other states. Some live nearby. But geography isn't the issue. All of us are busy.
Lately it seems we've all been extremely busy. Too busy to return phone calls. Too busy to return texts. Too caught up in the stress and frenetic pace of 21st century life to put our own issues aside.
It's not an indictment. I'm not upset. In fact I've never judged or based friendships solely on the amount of time people are willing to invest. I measure them against far more intrinsic values.
My dearest friends aren't the people I've known the longest or those that I hang out with most. They are the people who have been loyal through thick and thin. They've put up with the drama and they've never hesitated to give me a swift kick in the butt when I needed one most. They haven't asked me to trust them. They've just shown that I can.
There's a fierce, unspoken bond. I know they've always got my back. And I'll always have theirs.
My closest friends are an elite group. I can count them on one hand.
As I do, I remember something my father always said. He told me that you'll be lucky to have a few truly good friends in life.
I am definitely a lucky girl.
Until next time, "That's life..."
July 24, 2014
Just listen!
When it comes to writing, everyone's got an opinion. And in my humble opinion, J.K. Rowling is a genius. So, for that matter, is her "alter-ego" Robert Galbraith.
While I realize that her (their?) genius is a matter of considerable debate in literary circles and the among general public, that is not the topic of this post. However, it is tangential to the point I'm about to make.
Bear with me just a little while longer, and you'll see why.
In the opening pages of The Silkworm, our hero, Cormoran Strike, meets with a journalist. During the course of their conversation, the journalist, Culpepper, asks Strike how he got someone "to talk."
"I listened," Strike says.
And that simple bit of dialogue -- that little snippet --is what brings me (albeit it a bit belatedly) to my point.
He listened.
Just stop and think about that for a second. Let it sink in.
Now ask yourself this: in the day-to-day craziness of 21st century life, when was the last time I listened to someone?
In this instant information age, when was the last time I had a personal conversation without being distracted or interrupted by an incoming text or phone call?
Am I really "plugged in" to the world? Or am I out of touch with life?
Which matters more?
In this age of rampant narcissism and instant gratification, when was the last time I listened to someone without interrupting to share my opinion?
At a time when making and spreading harsh judgments about others based on limited or inaccurate information is celebrated, when was the last time I listened without judging?
At a time when I'm faced with so many demands I can hardly hear myself think, when was the last time I stopped long enough to listen to a child's laughter? Or waves lapping on the shore? Or gentle rainfall on the roof? Or birds chirping in the morning? Or leaves rustling in the breeze?
Then take a deep breath. Exhale. Find a quiet place to listen to your inner voice... and follow it where ever it may lead.
Until next time, "That's life..."
While I realize that her (their?) genius is a matter of considerable debate in literary circles and the among general public, that is not the topic of this post. However, it is tangential to the point I'm about to make.
Bear with me just a little while longer, and you'll see why.
In the opening pages of The Silkworm, our hero, Cormoran Strike, meets with a journalist. During the course of their conversation, the journalist, Culpepper, asks Strike how he got someone "to talk."
"I listened," Strike says.
And that simple bit of dialogue -- that little snippet --is what brings me (albeit it a bit belatedly) to my point.
He listened.
Just stop and think about that for a second. Let it sink in.
Now ask yourself this: in the day-to-day craziness of 21st century life, when was the last time I listened to someone?
In this instant information age, when was the last time I had a personal conversation without being distracted or interrupted by an incoming text or phone call?
Am I really "plugged in" to the world? Or am I out of touch with life?
Which matters more?
In this age of rampant narcissism and instant gratification, when was the last time I listened to someone without interrupting to share my opinion?
At a time when making and spreading harsh judgments about others based on limited or inaccurate information is celebrated, when was the last time I listened without judging?
At a time when I'm faced with so many demands I can hardly hear myself think, when was the last time I stopped long enough to listen to a child's laughter? Or waves lapping on the shore? Or gentle rainfall on the roof? Or birds chirping in the morning? Or leaves rustling in the breeze?
Then take a deep breath. Exhale. Find a quiet place to listen to your inner voice... and follow it where ever it may lead.
Until next time, "That's life..."
July 17, 2014
I hereby submit my resignation... from adulthood
Tuesday's come and gone, and nothing's changed. There are no new awards to add to my resume. My "banner day" ended in disappointment.
It wasn't the first time and it certainly won't be the last. And in any case, it's hardly the end of the world.
I'm already preparing for even bigger and better things. But as I do, I long for the days when life was a little less stressful and a whole lot less complicated.
Judging from a hard copy of an old email sent by a friend, I am not alone. Penned by an unknown author, the message read:
Adult Resignation
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult.
I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think it's a four-star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
Run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time life was simple. When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.
All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all of the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible.
I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple (sic) again.
I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.
So... here's my checkbook and my car keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements.
I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first,
'cause, "Tag! you're it."
Until next time, "That's life..."
It wasn't the first time and it certainly won't be the last. And in any case, it's hardly the end of the world.
I'm already preparing for even bigger and better things. But as I do, I long for the days when life was a little less stressful and a whole lot less complicated.
Judging from a hard copy of an old email sent by a friend, I am not alone. Penned by an unknown author, the message read:
Adult Resignation
I am hereby officially tendering my resignation as an adult.
I have decided I would like to accept the responsibilities of an 8 year old again.
I want to go to McDonald's and think it's a four-star restaurant.
I want to sail sticks across a fresh mud puddle and make ripples with rocks.
I want to think M&Ms are better than money because you can eat them.
Run a lemonade stand with my friends on a hot summer's day.
I want to return to a time life was simple. When all you knew were colors, multiplication tables and nursery rhymes, but that didn't bother you because you didn't know what you didn't know and you didn't care.
All you knew was to be happy because you were blissfully unaware of all of the things that should make you worried or upset.
I want to think the world is fair. That everyone is honest and good.
I want to believe that anything is possible.
I want to be oblivious to the complexities of life and be overly excited by the little things again.
I want to live simple (sic) again.
I don't want my day to consist of computer crashes, paperwork, depressing news, how to survive more days in the month than there is money in the bank, doctor bills, gossip, illness and loss of loved ones.
I want to believe in the power of smiles, hugs, a kind word, truth, justice, peace, dreams, the imagination, mankind and making angels in the snow.
So... here's my checkbook and my car keys, my credit card bills and my 401K statements.
I am officially resigning from adulthood.
And if you want to discuss this further, you'll have to catch me first,
'cause, "Tag! you're it."
Until next time, "That's life..."
July 11, 2014
Wish me luck...
Let's be honest. We creative types don't exactly have it easy. Everyone's a competitor. Everyone's a critic.
Personally I wouldn't have it any other way. It drives me to work harder. It drives me to do better. It drives me to reach goals I once thought unimaginable. It also drives me crazy.
Given that, I can't stop thinking about Tuesday. This coming Tuesday -- July 15, 2014 -- to be precise. It promises to be a banner day. I'll find out more about a paralegal certificate program I'm interested in taking to jump start the next phase of my career. Perhaps just as importantly (if not more so) I'll learn whether I'm a finalist in a national literary contest, and how I fared in a national short story contest.
There's money at stake in one case, and major street-cred up for grabs in the other. My pride's at stake in both.
I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm competitive. But I'm also realistic. The judging in creative contests is a largely subjective exercise. So my "banner day" may end in disappointment. If it does, it won't be the first time.
And it won't be the last.
Until next time, "That's life..."
Personally I wouldn't have it any other way. It drives me to work harder. It drives me to do better. It drives me to reach goals I once thought unimaginable. It also drives me crazy.
Given that, I can't stop thinking about Tuesday. This coming Tuesday -- July 15, 2014 -- to be precise. It promises to be a banner day. I'll find out more about a paralegal certificate program I'm interested in taking to jump start the next phase of my career. Perhaps just as importantly (if not more so) I'll learn whether I'm a finalist in a national literary contest, and how I fared in a national short story contest.
There's money at stake in one case, and major street-cred up for grabs in the other. My pride's at stake in both.
I'm not ashamed to admit it. I'm competitive. But I'm also realistic. The judging in creative contests is a largely subjective exercise. So my "banner day" may end in disappointment. If it does, it won't be the first time.
And it won't be the last.
Until next time, "That's life..."
July 3, 2014
Real Americans
Conventional wisdom holds that authors shouldn't blog about politics... or religion... or anything remotely controversial... unless the subject matter is directly related to our work.
I suppose we're supposed to play it safe in order to preserve our marketability and guarantee our books keep selling.
But those of you who know me personally or read this blog know I'm not the type to play it safe.
Take last week's posting, for instance. I boldly stated my belief that people are way too easily offended and vowed that I will never be politically correct.
This week I'm tackling something even more controversial. Specifically, I've decided to respond to some extremely offensive comments made by none other than Ann Coulter. Yes, I'm referring to her comments about soccer.
Among other things, the conservative columnist purportedly said that no one whose great-grandfather was born here is watching soccer. Of course she didn't have the guts to come out and say what she really meant. The insinuation was perfectly clear: Real Americans don't watch soccer .
Well, as we prepare to celebrate our country's indpendence, let me tell you a few things about real Americans, Ms. Coulter.
Real Americans don't always agree.
Real Americans know how to voice their opinions in a civilized manner.
Real Americans have no tolerance for those who spew hate.
Real Americans stand united in the face of adversity.
Real Americans celebrate our diversity.
Real Americans cherish our freedom.
Real Americans are patriotic.
Real Americans are proud.
Real Americans aren't defined by whether or not they like soccer.
Real Americans aren't defined by how long their families have been here.
Born here, I am a first-generation American of multicultural descent. And whether you like it or not, that makes me a real American.
Until next time, "That's life..."
I suppose we're supposed to play it safe in order to preserve our marketability and guarantee our books keep selling.
But those of you who know me personally or read this blog know I'm not the type to play it safe.
Take last week's posting, for instance. I boldly stated my belief that people are way too easily offended and vowed that I will never be politically correct.
This week I'm tackling something even more controversial. Specifically, I've decided to respond to some extremely offensive comments made by none other than Ann Coulter. Yes, I'm referring to her comments about soccer.
Among other things, the conservative columnist purportedly said that no one whose great-grandfather was born here is watching soccer. Of course she didn't have the guts to come out and say what she really meant. The insinuation was perfectly clear: Real Americans don't watch soccer .
Well, as we prepare to celebrate our country's indpendence, let me tell you a few things about real Americans, Ms. Coulter.
Real Americans don't always agree.
Real Americans know how to voice their opinions in a civilized manner.
Real Americans have no tolerance for those who spew hate.
Real Americans stand united in the face of adversity.
Real Americans celebrate our diversity.
Real Americans cherish our freedom.
Real Americans are patriotic.
Real Americans are proud.
Real Americans aren't defined by whether or not they like soccer.
Real Americans aren't defined by how long their families have been here.
Born here, I am a first-generation American of multicultural descent. And whether you like it or not, that makes me a real American.
Until next time, "That's life..."
June 27, 2014
Why I'll never be PC
In case you've missed it, there's a debate swirling across America. The Washington Redskins football team is once again being pressured to change its name.
Some people find it offensive because of its racial connotations. Others aren't bothered at all.
My personal feelings about the issue are irrelevant. Even if I cared to share them -- which I don't -- this blog would hardly be the proper forum in which to do so.
Speaking in general, I will say this. People today are way too easily offended. And there is way too much pressure to be politically correct.
As an author and as someone who values freedom above all else, I believe that can be a very dangerous thing.
On meriam-webster.com, the term politically correct is defined as "conforming to a belief that language and practices which could offend political sensibilities (as in matters of sex or race) should be eliminated."
I agree that we should all be held accountable for what we say. Hate speech, in particular is intolerable. The consequences of making hateful comments -- maliciously or out of ignorance -- are justifiably harsh.
But when has societal pressure to be politically correct gone too far? When our fear of offending someone effectively stifles our freedom of speech? When it precludes open and honest debate? When it prevents us, as authors, from sharing our stories?
While I tried to share my own story as honestly and responsibly as possible, I knew many people -- including some in the transgender community -- would find my memoir offensive. I weighed the pros and cons of publishing it at all. But in the end, I didn't let fear of what people might think dissuade me from speaking my truth.
In print and in person, I will always speak my truth -- but I will never, ever be "PC."
Until next time, "That's life..."
Some people find it offensive because of its racial connotations. Others aren't bothered at all.
My personal feelings about the issue are irrelevant. Even if I cared to share them -- which I don't -- this blog would hardly be the proper forum in which to do so.
Speaking in general, I will say this. People today are way too easily offended. And there is way too much pressure to be politically correct.
As an author and as someone who values freedom above all else, I believe that can be a very dangerous thing.
On meriam-webster.com, the term politically correct is defined as "conforming to a belief that language and practices which could offend political sensibilities (as in matters of sex or race) should be eliminated."
I agree that we should all be held accountable for what we say. Hate speech, in particular is intolerable. The consequences of making hateful comments -- maliciously or out of ignorance -- are justifiably harsh.
But when has societal pressure to be politically correct gone too far? When our fear of offending someone effectively stifles our freedom of speech? When it precludes open and honest debate? When it prevents us, as authors, from sharing our stories?
While I tried to share my own story as honestly and responsibly as possible, I knew many people -- including some in the transgender community -- would find my memoir offensive. I weighed the pros and cons of publishing it at all. But in the end, I didn't let fear of what people might think dissuade me from speaking my truth.
In print and in person, I will always speak my truth -- but I will never, ever be "PC."
Until next time, "That's life..."
That's life...
All you may -- or may not -- want to know about my adventures as an author and other stuff.
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