T.R. Winters's Blog
May 4, 2015
Why Classical Mythology Matters
For some reason, the Greek Myths have held a powerful place in Academia for centuries. They aren’t considered ‘just’ stories. They are considered something that all educated people should know something about. Sometimes, I find it very hard to understand why.
The Greek Myths aren’t actually very nice. They may have influenced stunning expressions of art over the centuries but when it comes to the Myths themselves, one is hard pressed to find any tale at all that has any real goodness or kindness in it.
I have heard it said continuously that Classical Mythology is a wonderful way of finding artistically expressed truths that are relevant to all of humanity.
But what truths? That it’s OK to eat babies? That cheating on your husband is alright if your lover is really hot? That having loads of affairs is the true measure of a man?
The more I read Classical Mythology, the more convinced I become that it does matter. But not for the reason we are told. One should not read the myths seeking for truth. One should read them looking for lies.
Western civilization owes a lot of her mindset to those ancient tales. The Gods and Goddesses may be figments of imaginations long gone, but the mindset that belief in those deities produced is more powerful than ever.
Why do we despise a woman or a man who holds their virginity until marriage? Why do we assume that they must be unbearably ugly to have managed it?
We despise virginity in the west and yet there is a huge rise in western women selling it. Aphrodite despised virginity as well. Anyone who valued it became her special little target. On the island of Cyprus were the worship of her was most strong, every young girl was expected to offer her virginity up in an act of prostitution.
And what about Hephaestus? He was so ugly when he was born he was thrown away. His parents could not bear the trouble of raising something less than perfect. A friend of mine became pregnant with a Down-Syndrome baby a while ago. Because of the burden a Down-Syndrome person is estimated to place on taxpayers, she was advised to abort.
You know the old saying, that you must judge a tree by its fruit. A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, nor a bad tree good fruit. I want to reverse that idea. Sometimes, a certain fruit becomes so ensconced in society, we can’t even tell if it’s bad anymore.
When familiarity breeds confusion, there is another way. Find the root of the idea and ask yourself “is this right?”
It is often easier to make clear judgements on things that happened two thousand, six hundred years ago.
Is Classical Mythology relevant today? I am certain it is. But not for the truth, for the lies.
The Greek Myths aren’t actually very nice. They may have influenced stunning expressions of art over the centuries but when it comes to the Myths themselves, one is hard pressed to find any tale at all that has any real goodness or kindness in it.
I have heard it said continuously that Classical Mythology is a wonderful way of finding artistically expressed truths that are relevant to all of humanity.
But what truths? That it’s OK to eat babies? That cheating on your husband is alright if your lover is really hot? That having loads of affairs is the true measure of a man?
The more I read Classical Mythology, the more convinced I become that it does matter. But not for the reason we are told. One should not read the myths seeking for truth. One should read them looking for lies.
Western civilization owes a lot of her mindset to those ancient tales. The Gods and Goddesses may be figments of imaginations long gone, but the mindset that belief in those deities produced is more powerful than ever.
Why do we despise a woman or a man who holds their virginity until marriage? Why do we assume that they must be unbearably ugly to have managed it?
We despise virginity in the west and yet there is a huge rise in western women selling it. Aphrodite despised virginity as well. Anyone who valued it became her special little target. On the island of Cyprus were the worship of her was most strong, every young girl was expected to offer her virginity up in an act of prostitution.
And what about Hephaestus? He was so ugly when he was born he was thrown away. His parents could not bear the trouble of raising something less than perfect. A friend of mine became pregnant with a Down-Syndrome baby a while ago. Because of the burden a Down-Syndrome person is estimated to place on taxpayers, she was advised to abort.
You know the old saying, that you must judge a tree by its fruit. A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, nor a bad tree good fruit. I want to reverse that idea. Sometimes, a certain fruit becomes so ensconced in society, we can’t even tell if it’s bad anymore.
When familiarity breeds confusion, there is another way. Find the root of the idea and ask yourself “is this right?”
It is often easier to make clear judgements on things that happened two thousand, six hundred years ago.
Is Classical Mythology relevant today? I am certain it is. But not for the truth, for the lies.
April 12, 2015
Books-that-go-flip!!!
Far be it from me to cast cold water on the advances of technology that this modern age has blessed us with. However I read a simply ghastly article recently that claimed jubilantly that the age of the book is dead and that the age of E-books and Kindles doth shine like a beacon upon us.
In a word, horrors!
What a BEASTLY idea! Now, I appreciate a good E-book as much as anyone but I think to claim that the birth of this creature is the death of the honest-to-goodness hold in your hand kind of book with-real-pages-that-flip is TOO much.
Anyhow, this article got me to thinking about all the useful things one can do with REAL books and I have listed them for your edification (or amusement) as follows.
A REAL book can make a very useful placemat for a steaming cup of coffee. This is a prevalent point to me because my mother has so many pieces of antique furniture that must not have their surfaces profaned by the base of a hot mug. If it were not for books-that-go-flip I would frequently have to go traipsing off to the kitchen to get a saucer every time my mother shrieks “OH Tiffany! NOT on my Kauri sideboard!” And who need that kind of unnecessary exercise? Certainly not me! I’m a sedentary author people, not an Olympic walker!
Then there’s the SHOWING OFF quality of books-that-go-flip. My beloved father is a bright man but his brilliance resides in science rather than linguistics. He knows one (and only one) sentence of New Testament Greek (quoted proudly on every unfortunately long road trip we’ve ever been on) but you would never guess it to look at his study. It is loaded to the hilt with HUGE books-that-go-flip, bound in leather and trimmed with gold.
And that leather and gold brings me to another argument for books-that-go-flip. Décor, people, décor. My mum reads even less Greek that Dad but she loves those luscious books of his and displays them with pride in an elegant bookcase (another thing I’m not allowed to rest a mug on).
Indeed, the list for WHY you ought to still buy books-that-go-flip is so long I might as well just bullet point the rest of them. So here goes…
• They make a much more interesting alternative to reading the back of that aerosol can in the bathroom when you must (ahem) linger.
• You can use them to gently discipline your children (“now darling, for putting a snail in your violin teacher’s tea you must dust ALL of Daddy’s Greek books”).
• They make handy emergency legs for sofas broken in overseas shifts (done that a few times!)
• You can throw them at your brothers when you catch them using your tooth brush to clean out a drain (again Daddy’s super heavy Greek books do the trick best).
Yes the list of uses for books that go flip is so lovely and long I have to conclude that although E-books are great, we’ll still see the good old fashioned paperbacks and hardbacks turning up in homes. I certainly hope so… I doubt a Kindle would stand up to having a hot mug sat on it!!!
In a word, horrors!
What a BEASTLY idea! Now, I appreciate a good E-book as much as anyone but I think to claim that the birth of this creature is the death of the honest-to-goodness hold in your hand kind of book with-real-pages-that-flip is TOO much.
Anyhow, this article got me to thinking about all the useful things one can do with REAL books and I have listed them for your edification (or amusement) as follows.
A REAL book can make a very useful placemat for a steaming cup of coffee. This is a prevalent point to me because my mother has so many pieces of antique furniture that must not have their surfaces profaned by the base of a hot mug. If it were not for books-that-go-flip I would frequently have to go traipsing off to the kitchen to get a saucer every time my mother shrieks “OH Tiffany! NOT on my Kauri sideboard!” And who need that kind of unnecessary exercise? Certainly not me! I’m a sedentary author people, not an Olympic walker!
Then there’s the SHOWING OFF quality of books-that-go-flip. My beloved father is a bright man but his brilliance resides in science rather than linguistics. He knows one (and only one) sentence of New Testament Greek (quoted proudly on every unfortunately long road trip we’ve ever been on) but you would never guess it to look at his study. It is loaded to the hilt with HUGE books-that-go-flip, bound in leather and trimmed with gold.
And that leather and gold brings me to another argument for books-that-go-flip. Décor, people, décor. My mum reads even less Greek that Dad but she loves those luscious books of his and displays them with pride in an elegant bookcase (another thing I’m not allowed to rest a mug on).
Indeed, the list for WHY you ought to still buy books-that-go-flip is so long I might as well just bullet point the rest of them. So here goes…
• They make a much more interesting alternative to reading the back of that aerosol can in the bathroom when you must (ahem) linger.
• You can use them to gently discipline your children (“now darling, for putting a snail in your violin teacher’s tea you must dust ALL of Daddy’s Greek books”).
• They make handy emergency legs for sofas broken in overseas shifts (done that a few times!)
• You can throw them at your brothers when you catch them using your tooth brush to clean out a drain (again Daddy’s super heavy Greek books do the trick best).
Yes the list of uses for books that go flip is so lovely and long I have to conclude that although E-books are great, we’ll still see the good old fashioned paperbacks and hardbacks turning up in homes. I certainly hope so… I doubt a Kindle would stand up to having a hot mug sat on it!!!
April 3, 2015
How I Reckon Writing Got Invented
It is said that the history of all Western writing began with the Phoenicians, a group of people who taught the idea to the Greeks.
What no one knows is who this fist Phoenician was.
I don’t know either, but this one thing I am willing to bet. I bet this Phoenician was a talker. Yes, I bet this chap (or chap-ess) just followed their long-suffering family around yapping and yapping and yapping. In the end someone (probably the mum) would have just snapped at shrieked at the young yapping Phoenician “WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!” to which the undefeatable yapping Phoenician would have said “but mum, I don’t know HOW to shut up! I mean, I just LOVE talking SO much!” Then the mum probably said “WELL THEN FIND A WAY TO TALK SILENTLY!” and that blister of family peace would have wandered outside with a stick and found a patch of mud and invented an alphabet and started speaking silently.
Yes, on such fragile strands do hang all of human civilization.
Now you’re probably wondering how I came up with this COMPLETELY ingenuous hypothesis. Well, it’s simple really. When I was a young little Kiwi way down in New Zealand, I was a talker. I used to follow my poor old mum around and around the house until she (poor thing) would BEG me to be quiet. Fortunately for our relationship (and the health of her ears) I eventually discovered how to talk silently. In fact, that’s really why I’ve become a writer. It enables me to talk continuously without driving my dear old family completely mad.
Of course a lot of people don’t guess this. “An author!” they cry—impressed—when I tell them what I do “how ever did you get into that!?”
I just cast my eye to a muddy patch of earth with sticks lying about it, think of the ancient yapping Phoenician and wink.
What no one knows is who this fist Phoenician was.
I don’t know either, but this one thing I am willing to bet. I bet this Phoenician was a talker. Yes, I bet this chap (or chap-ess) just followed their long-suffering family around yapping and yapping and yapping. In the end someone (probably the mum) would have just snapped at shrieked at the young yapping Phoenician “WOULD YOU PLEASE JUST SHUT UP!” to which the undefeatable yapping Phoenician would have said “but mum, I don’t know HOW to shut up! I mean, I just LOVE talking SO much!” Then the mum probably said “WELL THEN FIND A WAY TO TALK SILENTLY!” and that blister of family peace would have wandered outside with a stick and found a patch of mud and invented an alphabet and started speaking silently.
Yes, on such fragile strands do hang all of human civilization.
Now you’re probably wondering how I came up with this COMPLETELY ingenuous hypothesis. Well, it’s simple really. When I was a young little Kiwi way down in New Zealand, I was a talker. I used to follow my poor old mum around and around the house until she (poor thing) would BEG me to be quiet. Fortunately for our relationship (and the health of her ears) I eventually discovered how to talk silently. In fact, that’s really why I’ve become a writer. It enables me to talk continuously without driving my dear old family completely mad.
Of course a lot of people don’t guess this. “An author!” they cry—impressed—when I tell them what I do “how ever did you get into that!?”
I just cast my eye to a muddy patch of earth with sticks lying about it, think of the ancient yapping Phoenician and wink.
March 23, 2015
Parrot Poaching Kitty Cat
The family has recently acquired a new addition. My sister (a highly compassionate creature) found herself in an animal shelter with a fresh pay cheque. An uneconomic combination at the best of times. She purchased a large feline with a rattling purr and elongated tail and named him Jed in honour of Jed Clampet from the Beverly Hillbillies. This has turned out to be an excellent name because much like the original Jed, this Jed seems to have decided that it is his responsibility to ‘hunt up food to keep his family fed’. He is a generous cat in the extreme and he would never think of catching a wee lizard and gobbling it up all by himself. Unhappily we are less grateful than we should be for this kindness. I am sick to death of rushing around the house trying to rescue yet another lizard with a bloodied stump where its tail should be. Jed watches my endeavours with evident pride and increases his efforts so that each lizard seems to be about an inch larger than the last. But this weekend he gained new heights. Where we live there is a profusion of magnificent parrots. They are some of the most beautiful creatures we have ever seen and we appreciate them like one appreciates a jewelled Fabergé. Jed appreciates them too but he admires them more like a winged plate of beluga caviar. As they ARE winged and jolly good flyers we assumed they’d be safe. But somehow, somewhere he got one. He hauled it into the house squawking and bellowing with indignation and rage. He dragged it to the feet of my father and presented it with an expression of deep self-satisfaction. His disgust when Dad leapt up in horror and thrust the door open for the poor thing to flee was unspeakable. The parrot (thankfully) unharmed shot to the top of a tall gum tree and voiced his fury with shrieks and yells. Jed did not notice this because he was angrily pawing the bright little pile of feathers the bird had left behind. He turned a look of withering scorn upon us all. “Greedy hogs” he seemed to be saying “I understand you eating a little lizard all by yourselves BUT YOU MIGHT HAVE SAVED ME A BIT OF PARROT!"
March 16, 2015
Deranged Ramblings of a Coffee Addict
Ok, I admit it. Much like the romantic poets and possibly the chap who penned ‘Alice in Wonderland’ I like to work under the influence of a drug. NOT Laudanum like Byron however and certainly never opium likes his peculiar friends. Coffee is, I have been told, a drug. My younger brother (a supercilious creature who is probably destined to become a lawyer) regularly upbraids me for my weakness and tells me that unless I kick the coffee habit my life will spiral down into a dark pit of gloom and disorder and that he jolly well won’t be bailing me out. He has also described to me in gruelling detail the sad decline of people who pass from coffee to cigarettes, from cigarettes to joints and from joints into lunatic asylums. According to him the line that separates the single morning coffee from the deranged life of shoving heroin needles up one’s arm is a thin one and I play with it to my incalculable danger. Such are the charming conversations we have around the dinner table to the immense horror of my extremely elegant and refined mother.
But as I commence work on the third draft of my novel, an ambitious love story that requires a broad range of research ranging from Roman battle strategies to the ramblings of Nietzsche, I find he has a point. It is simply nauseating to have to admit that such a worm as a younger brother could be right about ANYTHING, but sadly, he is. The drug of coffee IS progressive. Not to cigarettes as he predicted so darkly, but rather to more and more coffee. I swear, each draft of the novel seems to increase the intake of coffee. I have moved from one cup to six. I have tossed away the French Press for an espresso maker and I am drinking so much of that that it may now be neutralizing my calcium intake (another terrifying fact, apparently). My brother continues to stare disapprovingly at me as I sit growling over my morning cups of coffee but strangely, these days he keeps silent. Perhaps it is the wild, primitive look in my eye. Or maybe it is the way I hiss that the coffee is SO hot and would REALLY hurt anyone it got accidently spilt on. Then again, it might simply be that all people in the final and darkest stages of their addictions are known for violent behaviour and my brother has decided not to antagonize me until the last draft of the novel is finished and I rehabilitate myself to the single cup of French Press. For a worm, he can be surprisingly astute at times.
So there you go, I write under the influence of drugs. Now pass the coffee please, I have a chapter to finish.
But as I commence work on the third draft of my novel, an ambitious love story that requires a broad range of research ranging from Roman battle strategies to the ramblings of Nietzsche, I find he has a point. It is simply nauseating to have to admit that such a worm as a younger brother could be right about ANYTHING, but sadly, he is. The drug of coffee IS progressive. Not to cigarettes as he predicted so darkly, but rather to more and more coffee. I swear, each draft of the novel seems to increase the intake of coffee. I have moved from one cup to six. I have tossed away the French Press for an espresso maker and I am drinking so much of that that it may now be neutralizing my calcium intake (another terrifying fact, apparently). My brother continues to stare disapprovingly at me as I sit growling over my morning cups of coffee but strangely, these days he keeps silent. Perhaps it is the wild, primitive look in my eye. Or maybe it is the way I hiss that the coffee is SO hot and would REALLY hurt anyone it got accidently spilt on. Then again, it might simply be that all people in the final and darkest stages of their addictions are known for violent behaviour and my brother has decided not to antagonize me until the last draft of the novel is finished and I rehabilitate myself to the single cup of French Press. For a worm, he can be surprisingly astute at times.
So there you go, I write under the influence of drugs. Now pass the coffee please, I have a chapter to finish.
June 23, 2014
The dreadful, Awful FEAR of Failing.
Greetings intrepid readers!
Today I take a break from my fascinating career as a tabloid reporter in the halls of mount Olympus. This is for two reasons, (A) it is very hard to continually outrun Zeus and his thunderbolts (apparently freedom of press isn’t a popular idea among the ghastlies) and (B) I have a statement to make to all would be writers out there.
You see, I have noticed a perfectly awful trend among people who would dearly love to become writers and authors and that trend is FEAR. Yes, so many people are AFRAID to become writers because they reckon if they actually take the step of sitting down and grasping their pen and ink or smacking away at their key boards they will FAIL! Yes, they will write AWFUL books that no one EVER WANTS TO READ (I write this in capitals because in my experience this thought is ALWAYS in capitals inside these people’s heads) but here’s the thing, if you have a book inside your soul, then you owe it to yourself to give it life. Maybe it will be a best seller, maybe it won’t be. Maybe it will be the greatest novel anyone has ever written, then again, maybe it will end up torn up in a cat litter box. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have suggested that, now you’ll all just worry about that awful idea won’t you!? I’m so sorry!)
Anyway, why am I so certain that FEAR is keeping a lot of people from writing books? Because I struggle with it myself. Every time I sit down and write I wonder (in horror) is this good, is it bad? How on earth can I tell? I also have the joy of worrying if the spell check on the computer is going to collapse all of a sudden. This may not sound like a worry to you, but believe me, when you have dyslexia this is quite a thought worth worrying about!
So why do I keep writing? Because, quite simply, I have too. Regardless if my stories are good, bad or mundane, they are mine. No other human in the whole world can write exactly and completely like ME. And nobody in the whole world can write exactly like YOU.
So, if you happen to be longing to give writing a go then you just give it a go. Maybe people will read it and say “Oh the plot is so weak!” Maybe they will say “What one dimensional characters!” Some particularly unimaginative person is sure to inform you that “you don’t need a comma there!” But the one thing they won’t be able to challenge is THE FACT YOU WROTE IT!
Some wise person once said that “Perfect love casts out fear”. They were right. If you really, truly want to write stories, just give it a go. Once the love of writing hits you, the fear of failing starts to hunt for the door.
Happy writing! TR Winters
Today I take a break from my fascinating career as a tabloid reporter in the halls of mount Olympus. This is for two reasons, (A) it is very hard to continually outrun Zeus and his thunderbolts (apparently freedom of press isn’t a popular idea among the ghastlies) and (B) I have a statement to make to all would be writers out there.
You see, I have noticed a perfectly awful trend among people who would dearly love to become writers and authors and that trend is FEAR. Yes, so many people are AFRAID to become writers because they reckon if they actually take the step of sitting down and grasping their pen and ink or smacking away at their key boards they will FAIL! Yes, they will write AWFUL books that no one EVER WANTS TO READ (I write this in capitals because in my experience this thought is ALWAYS in capitals inside these people’s heads) but here’s the thing, if you have a book inside your soul, then you owe it to yourself to give it life. Maybe it will be a best seller, maybe it won’t be. Maybe it will be the greatest novel anyone has ever written, then again, maybe it will end up torn up in a cat litter box. Oh dear, I shouldn’t have suggested that, now you’ll all just worry about that awful idea won’t you!? I’m so sorry!)
Anyway, why am I so certain that FEAR is keeping a lot of people from writing books? Because I struggle with it myself. Every time I sit down and write I wonder (in horror) is this good, is it bad? How on earth can I tell? I also have the joy of worrying if the spell check on the computer is going to collapse all of a sudden. This may not sound like a worry to you, but believe me, when you have dyslexia this is quite a thought worth worrying about!
So why do I keep writing? Because, quite simply, I have too. Regardless if my stories are good, bad or mundane, they are mine. No other human in the whole world can write exactly and completely like ME. And nobody in the whole world can write exactly like YOU.
So, if you happen to be longing to give writing a go then you just give it a go. Maybe people will read it and say “Oh the plot is so weak!” Maybe they will say “What one dimensional characters!” Some particularly unimaginative person is sure to inform you that “you don’t need a comma there!” But the one thing they won’t be able to challenge is THE FACT YOU WROTE IT!
Some wise person once said that “Perfect love casts out fear”. They were right. If you really, truly want to write stories, just give it a go. Once the love of writing hits you, the fear of failing starts to hunt for the door.
Happy writing! TR Winters
March 21, 2014
Nasty Court Hearing at Mount Olympus!
Greetings, intrepid travellers of time! Once again your beloved ancient world correspondent has headed for ancient Greece to dish up some dirt on the dastardly deities and horrible heroes of old!
We have a lovely treat for you gossip gobblers today, on the subject of the horrible Zeus, who is up to his beastly ticks again! Hope you enjoy! Love, T. R . Winters.
TOP GOD OFFERS TO BLAST LEGAL GODDESS TO BITS!
He is the terror of husbands, the nightmare of fathers and the abuser of woman, but Zeus couldn't care less. He appeared in the Rhodes district court yesterday on yet another unseemly conduct charge and listened to the charges with what seemed to be amusement. He refused the services of a lawyer, saying he could 'defend himself just fine'. When the judge, Her Honour Themis asked him if he realized the serious nature of his continual re-offence he laughed scornfully. When she asked him if he realized he was ruining lives, he said he knew, but he'd like to see someone try and stop him. The prosecution made it's opening statement, but when Zeus rose to defend himself he scorned the use of polished rhetoric. He said, " While I find my learned friend quaint and amusing, I don't want to spend the next month listening to him drivelling on. So let's move straight to the closing statement. Yes, I'm guilty, yes I'm a re-offender, no I don't feel remorseful and yes I'm going to do it again. But the fact is, I'm the top god and if you even think about convicting me I'm going to zap you all with my thunderbolts!" He was instantly acquitted. Her Honour Themis told reporters, "I'm very angry about how it went, but my blindfold is full of holes, my scales are rigged and my sword is blunt. Until we find a God that respects the rule of righteous law, we are forever doomed to be at the mercy of the capricious arrogance that we observed in the court today."
(This may not be an original myth, but the truth is that the gods of the ancient classical myths were often depicted as abusing women and goddesses, and having absolutely no remorse at all! Just imagine the kind of effect belief in a violent all powerful male god who was allowed to treat woman like that could have on a society!!!! It sort of makes you shudder!)
We have a lovely treat for you gossip gobblers today, on the subject of the horrible Zeus, who is up to his beastly ticks again! Hope you enjoy! Love, T. R . Winters.
TOP GOD OFFERS TO BLAST LEGAL GODDESS TO BITS!
He is the terror of husbands, the nightmare of fathers and the abuser of woman, but Zeus couldn't care less. He appeared in the Rhodes district court yesterday on yet another unseemly conduct charge and listened to the charges with what seemed to be amusement. He refused the services of a lawyer, saying he could 'defend himself just fine'. When the judge, Her Honour Themis asked him if he realized the serious nature of his continual re-offence he laughed scornfully. When she asked him if he realized he was ruining lives, he said he knew, but he'd like to see someone try and stop him. The prosecution made it's opening statement, but when Zeus rose to defend himself he scorned the use of polished rhetoric. He said, " While I find my learned friend quaint and amusing, I don't want to spend the next month listening to him drivelling on. So let's move straight to the closing statement. Yes, I'm guilty, yes I'm a re-offender, no I don't feel remorseful and yes I'm going to do it again. But the fact is, I'm the top god and if you even think about convicting me I'm going to zap you all with my thunderbolts!" He was instantly acquitted. Her Honour Themis told reporters, "I'm very angry about how it went, but my blindfold is full of holes, my scales are rigged and my sword is blunt. Until we find a God that respects the rule of righteous law, we are forever doomed to be at the mercy of the capricious arrogance that we observed in the court today."
(This may not be an original myth, but the truth is that the gods of the ancient classical myths were often depicted as abusing women and goddesses, and having absolutely no remorse at all! Just imagine the kind of effect belief in a violent all powerful male god who was allowed to treat woman like that could have on a society!!!! It sort of makes you shudder!)
