Joseph Grammer's Blog - Posts Tagged "mistakes"
Bad Words
Cocoon Kids
Errors. I feel like I made millions of them in my book. My fingernails are still raw from chomping, and my eyes have suffered in hours of sapping laptop light. My mistakes are out there in the world ("the world" meaning the dozen or so humans who know my book exists) and I have to live with them. Which is cool.
I love failure. It's like coffee for me, although I also like coffee. Lattes, which I can get in my apartment for free (well, the cost of my rent, which is high). Failure makes me smile and reflect for a second or two on my long train to a shabby gravestone, whose last stop I can only hope is sometime past 2060.
My book is called "Cocoon Kids" (should I italicize this? who knows) and was totally unexpected to me. I've been writing a book set in Okinawa for the last 6 months, and then these short stories came to me out of nowhere. Or, more truthfully, I'd been whittling them in my spare time over the course of years, and then finally got around to clumping them together one day. Mostly due to the prodding of my girlfriend.
I was obsessed with making the stories perfect. Literary and worthy and memorable and all that jazz. But at some point I had to accept that I am an error-ful young human with a scatterbrained disposition. It will be many years before I am memorable, if I ever become so lucky.
So errors. I'm thankful for them, because they teach my brain useful stuff. Mistakes in plot, pacing, tone, character development, or (gasp) grammar abound in my collection, but that's part of what makes it sort of valuable to me. I'd much rather make a million mistakes in this collection than be writing a PhD dissertation right now (no disrespect to grad students, that is one hell of a hard job).
Anyway, I enjoy making mistakes, and you can too! Slogan.
P.S. Let me know how many mistakes are in this article.
Joe Grammer
Errors. I feel like I made millions of them in my book. My fingernails are still raw from chomping, and my eyes have suffered in hours of sapping laptop light. My mistakes are out there in the world ("the world" meaning the dozen or so humans who know my book exists) and I have to live with them. Which is cool.
I love failure. It's like coffee for me, although I also like coffee. Lattes, which I can get in my apartment for free (well, the cost of my rent, which is high). Failure makes me smile and reflect for a second or two on my long train to a shabby gravestone, whose last stop I can only hope is sometime past 2060.
My book is called "Cocoon Kids" (should I italicize this? who knows) and was totally unexpected to me. I've been writing a book set in Okinawa for the last 6 months, and then these short stories came to me out of nowhere. Or, more truthfully, I'd been whittling them in my spare time over the course of years, and then finally got around to clumping them together one day. Mostly due to the prodding of my girlfriend.
I was obsessed with making the stories perfect. Literary and worthy and memorable and all that jazz. But at some point I had to accept that I am an error-ful young human with a scatterbrained disposition. It will be many years before I am memorable, if I ever become so lucky.
So errors. I'm thankful for them, because they teach my brain useful stuff. Mistakes in plot, pacing, tone, character development, or (gasp) grammar abound in my collection, but that's part of what makes it sort of valuable to me. I'd much rather make a million mistakes in this collection than be writing a PhD dissertation right now (no disrespect to grad students, that is one hell of a hard job).
Anyway, I enjoy making mistakes, and you can too! Slogan.
P.S. Let me know how many mistakes are in this article.
Joe Grammer
Review Day
So Thursday, in my apartment, is supposed to force me to look over past notes, outlines, and musings so I can feel justified in keeping piles of moderately useful paper in a 650-sq. room. Today I reviewed Russian grammar.
I majored in Russian at the University of Maryland, College Park, which does not a proper Russian speaker make. My teachers were great; it's just Russian is an exceedingly challenging language. It takes time and practice to be good. In my case, years, since I am so slow to accomplish anything. And by my standards, I am atrocious.
On that note, here is my attempt to write a story in Russian. No doubt it is riddled with errors and complete nonsense, but it's what I made. Go me?
The story is unfinished, by the way, but I wanted to get at least 200 words in today. For non-Cyrillic readers, I'll post a translation soon. Basically it's about a guy named Zhenya Orgutsov who loses all his money in a card game and goes home to his apartment, which his dog Dog has chewed up. For the first time ever he reflects on his life.
Не сделав ничего полезного, Евгений Оргуцов открыл новую банку Кока-Колы и, в первый раз в своей невыгодной жизни, стал раздумывая про свою невыгодную жизнь. Он только что закончил играть в карты с некоторыми малозубными знакомами -- и проиграл. Ещё неудача в этой жестокой неделе. Бабушка сдохла во вторник. Или умерла -- Женя постоянно забывал вежливо думать о семье. И так о себе, но это было неважно.
Жуком, катающий мяч навоза, Женя ловко скрутил папиросу и сразу вдыхал. Через несколько секунд, задул шлейф дыма. Ароматный. Освобождение стресса. Но, конечно, не вся. Единственного движения, которое могло польностью снизиться тоску -- нету. Даже не смерть. Смерть просто ухудшилась проблему.
<<Пёс, что мне надо? Денег офигонно нету. Деньги надо. Семья меня ненавидет, но я их люблю. Семья надо. Что ещё?>>
Пёс, который не жевал всю полуразрушенную мебель в квартире, пока Женя пришёл домой, взглядил смущенно на Женю.
<<Ах, Пёс, тебе тоже надо. Ты никогда не отвечаешь меня. Ты прав -- мне надо становиться самостоятельным. Но как?>>
Достижение этой благородной цели казалось Жене совершенно невозможно. Трудно было суп готовить. Когда Женя старалось очищать картошку, например, он всегда резал палец. Успех не стоит проливание крови, на его взгляд. Но Женя часто проливал кровь за неудачу. Вот разум.
I majored in Russian at the University of Maryland, College Park, which does not a proper Russian speaker make. My teachers were great; it's just Russian is an exceedingly challenging language. It takes time and practice to be good. In my case, years, since I am so slow to accomplish anything. And by my standards, I am atrocious.
On that note, here is my attempt to write a story in Russian. No doubt it is riddled with errors and complete nonsense, but it's what I made. Go me?
The story is unfinished, by the way, but I wanted to get at least 200 words in today. For non-Cyrillic readers, I'll post a translation soon. Basically it's about a guy named Zhenya Orgutsov who loses all his money in a card game and goes home to his apartment, which his dog Dog has chewed up. For the first time ever he reflects on his life.
Не сделав ничего полезного, Евгений Оргуцов открыл новую банку Кока-Колы и, в первый раз в своей невыгодной жизни, стал раздумывая про свою невыгодную жизнь. Он только что закончил играть в карты с некоторыми малозубными знакомами -- и проиграл. Ещё неудача в этой жестокой неделе. Бабушка сдохла во вторник. Или умерла -- Женя постоянно забывал вежливо думать о семье. И так о себе, но это было неважно.
Жуком, катающий мяч навоза, Женя ловко скрутил папиросу и сразу вдыхал. Через несколько секунд, задул шлейф дыма. Ароматный. Освобождение стресса. Но, конечно, не вся. Единственного движения, которое могло польностью снизиться тоску -- нету. Даже не смерть. Смерть просто ухудшилась проблему.
<<Пёс, что мне надо? Денег офигонно нету. Деньги надо. Семья меня ненавидет, но я их люблю. Семья надо. Что ещё?>>
Пёс, который не жевал всю полуразрушенную мебель в квартире, пока Женя пришёл домой, взглядил смущенно на Женю.
<<Ах, Пёс, тебе тоже надо. Ты никогда не отвечаешь меня. Ты прав -- мне надо становиться самостоятельным. Но как?>>
Достижение этой благородной цели казалось Жене совершенно невозможно. Трудно было суп готовить. Когда Женя старалось очищать картошку, например, он всегда резал палец. Успех не стоит проливание крови, на его взгляд. Но Женя часто проливал кровь за неудачу. Вот разум.
