Thursday, May 11, 2017
Cliches: Avoid Them Like the Plague, by Karla Stover
bwlauthors.blogspot.com karla stover
In 1988, Brunswick, Maine's Chief of Police told his police force to quit using the phrase, "Have a Nice Day," when on duty. He called it, "an absurdly shallow insult," And since the phrase is over 800 years old, it's also a little shopworn. The 12th century British poet, Layamon used it in Chronicle of Britain, writing its variant, "Have a good day." A couple of hundred years later, Chaucer became a devotee of the phrase. The American Heritage Dictionary of Idioms says "Have a Good Day became popular in the 1920s and the rest, dare I say, is history.
The word, cliché, has interesting history. In 1725, the Scottish goldsmith, William Ged, patented a printing process where moveable type struck soft lead to create a duplicate plate. The action made a clicking or clacking sound. Not long after, French printer/engraver, Firmin Didot, (among others) improved the process, and Firman called it stereotype from the Greek words for solid and type. Then printers began calling the plate itself, le cliché, cliché being the past participle of the verb, clicher, which describes clacking sounds. Thus, a cliché was a duplicate of the original and, by the 19th century, when the English adopted the word, it was used to describe something timeworn.
Alexander Pope gave us one well-known cliché: "Hope Springs Eternal," but William Shakespeare gave us dozens: Too Much of a Good thing; "Seen Better Days;" and my personal favorite, "Cry Havoc and let Slip the Dogs of War." He also borrowed from the Bible: "Skin of My Teeth (Job 19:20) and Job also gave us, "Have a Narrow Escape."
Athletes seem as if they never met a cliché they didn't like. Consider the following: "This is a Good Win For us;" "My Comments Were Taken Out of Context,"and my personal favorite, "A Tie is Like Kissing Your Sister."
And then there's politics: "The Buck Stops Here," (about responsibility); "The Smoke-filled Room," (where deals are done); and my personal favorite, "I Know it When I See it," (about obscenity.
In his book, Tales of a Traveler, the American author, Washington Irving wrote, "The inn had been aroused several months before, on a dark and stormy night" thus giving us one of our best known clichés.
Anyone who Googles or Yahoo(s) the word, cliché, will see that there are dozens of books listing them but few ideas on how to eliminate them. Reading your writing aloud seems to be the best bet. Others include, know your subject; avoid copying another's writing style and, probably the best piece of advice: "be direct, simple, brief, lucid, and vigorous."
As Samuel Goldwyn, head of MGM, once said, "Let's Have Some New Clichés."
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
History of the Tribe of Possum
So I looked into the natural history of my marsupial buddies
today, and here’s what I found. Once upon a time, 70 million years ago or
thereabouts, these little guys emerged from the Cretaceous North American underbrush.
The proto-possums are called Peradectids, at least, that’s the latest research
from the University of Florida and those sooooooutherners should know a thing or two about possums,
after all.
Proto-possum was sharing his territory with the dinosaur, so things were probably pretty tough. Then, just 5 million years or so later—the mere blink of an eye in geologic time—that famous or infamous asteroid struck, putting a sudden, dramatic end to the long reign of dino domination. Possums survived.
Proto-possum was sharing his territory with the dinosaur, so things were probably pretty tough. Then, just 5 million years or so later—the mere blink of an eye in geologic time—that famous or infamous asteroid struck, putting a sudden, dramatic end to the long reign of dino domination. Possums survived.
What is more, they used the new space they’d acquired, after
emerging from various fallout shelters—probably the gigantic ribcages of their
now deceased neighbors—and, in a fit of exuberance, split into several families.
Eating insects, fruit and eggs and other people’s leftovers, they trudged down
Mexico way and over the land bridge into South America, where they continued to
evolve. At this time, South America, Antarctica and Australia were still cuddled
up together on a big comfy couch of floating basalt, and so from here, the proto-marsupials
marched on to find new homes.
The three continents finally parted company and drifted away
from one another. Eventually isolated in Australia, the marsupial line would
proliferate into many strange and wonderful shapes. Sadly, most of these exotic
critters are now extinct or on their way out, like the legendary Tasmanian
Devil, who is really—cartoon aside—quite a fetching little beast.
Meanwhile, in North America, all the possums went extinct during
a time when North and South America were no longer connected. Therefore, for an
epoch or two, North America was deprived of this a vital member of Nature’s
clean-up crew. Fortunately, for fans, like me, a short three
million years ago, the land bridge between North and South America rose again—or
the ocean receded, locked up in the polar ice caps or whatever—and possums
returned to their ancient point of origin once again.
Now, while you are laughing at possum—mashed by the side of
road—no doubt intentionally driven over by some bully of an ape with delusions
of grandeur because he sits in a machine with an internal combustion engine—well,
think again. The “dawn of man” --and
guess what, guys? There wouldn’t have been any “dawn” at all without woman, too—this
“dawn” began a mere 3 million years ago, about the time possum was returning
from his successful South American road trip.
Now, maybe I’m exaggerating a bit—true proto-primates of our line came
on the scene some 55 million years ago—but essentially, possum is, was and has
been, possum. You’d recognize a Peradectid as a possum, but you sure as heck
wouldn’t recognize that little shrew type critter with the forward facing eyes hanging
in a tree as a member of your family.
There’s something to be said for plain and simple, for
humility, for making do, and the will to survive, which this primitive, nearly defenseless little beast has in spades . And that’s why I love
Possums.
I am in the grandma zone, a long time writer and poet, posting at Crone Henge and BWL these days just because. Wish I could travel, and last year I was lucky enough to get back to the UK, specifically to Avebury to reconnect with the ancient temple. Hiking, camping, lover of solitude, cats, moons and gardens.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Something to Celebrate
This year my great country turns 150 years old. July 1st. We're young as a nation, but this is worth celebrating. It's a vast, diverse, beautiful country. I'm proud to call Canada home.
A Toronto radio station did a poll in April. If neither money nor time were an issue, where would you travel to.
British Columbia is gorgeous. We have been a few times. Tofino on Vancouver Island, the coast of BC with the ocean and the Rockies in the distance. And of course the wineries.
Banff and Lake Louise in Alberta. Words can't describe how beautiful this area is. We are heading to Canmore and the Badlands in Alberta for our summer vacation this year. I'm looking forward to it.
Ontario, my home province is amazing. Rolling countryside, rocks and lakes and waterfalls. North, south, east and west. It's an incredible province. We take day trips, with picnic lunches regularly with our dog.
I love the east coast as well. It's relaxed and the people are so friendly. The food. The aroma alone is mouth watering.
The answer to the poll?
Newfoundland. Otherwise known as "The Rock"
Proper pronunciation: Here's a little trick. Understand, Newfoundland.
We went to The Rock two years ago with our best friends. It was on my bucket list and it didn't disappoint. It's best described as heaven on earth. We drove the western arm and stopped a number of times along the way to hike or just appreciate the view. Gros Morne is a must see. We took the boat to Labrador and had a wonderful meal in a lighthouse.
We saw icebergs and humpback whales during our trip. And we saw one moose. Woohoo. Rumour has it there are more moose than people in Newfoundland.
The hospitality is second to none.
We were on the final days of our holiday, and looking for someplace for lunch. We pulled into a small restaurant / convenience store and walked in. There were probably eight tables, all of which were occupied.
A young father hopped up from the table. He asked in his Newfie twang if we were there for lunch.
We informed him we needed a table for four.
I just about died when he responded. 'He would kick his family out.'
I'm not quoting here. It would be impossible to remember his exact words. The Newfies have a dialect all of their own, but it's something you can understand.
He told us they ate there all the time and that they were done anyway.
He turned to his father and two kids and told them to make room. They got up with their drinks and we took their place. We enjoyed a fantastic meal.
We have travelled a lot over the years. We've been to Europe, travelled the USA, have been to Caribbean islands and to Central America.
Canada ranks right up there. If you haven't been, it's worth the trip.
Monday, May 8, 2017
Dame Catherine Cookson and the Ducks by June Gadsby
It all
started with a phone call to my husband, Brian, from the world-famous author,
Catherine Cookson. Brian, at that time, was the curator of Sir Peter Scott’s
charity, the Washington Wildfowl Park [north-east England – where the ancestors
of the American president hailed from]. We lived on site with 1200 rare
wildfowl – ducks, geese, swans and many more beautiful, endangered birds.
Catherine
said she had a problem and asked Brian if he could help her. She had two ducks
on her pond that she was very fond of, but they couldn’t seem to produce any
young, although they were a loving pair. Brian and his manager arranged to go
up to Catherine’s home to see if they could sort things out for her. This was
an opportunity I couldn’t miss, having been a fan of Catherine’s books from an
early age. I took a day off work and went with Brian and Ken, thinking that I
would, at the very least, get to meet this grand lady. It all turned out very
much more than any of us were expecting.
The Cookson’s
mansion house in Northumberland was surrounded by beautiful countryside and
there was a large lake that was home to the afore-mentioned ducks. Catherine and her husband, Tom, a lovely,
gentle man, welcomed us warmly – no sign of a servant anywhere, despite their
millionaire status. I expected to accompany Brian and Ken to the lake, but
no…Brian mentioned that I was a aspiring writer and would love to spend a
little time with Catherine. She was not only gracious enough to let me stay
with her in her cosy sitting room, where we talked non-stop for two hours and
found we had a lot in common. We had been born only a few miles apart, neither
of us knew our fathers, neither of us had children, and we were both artists as
well as writers. She took me to her studio to show me her paintings, which were
big, beautiful floral studies. Then she asked me if I would like to see her
office. As the men had returned by then,
they were also invited to join us up a winding iron staircase to her office – a
huge room filled with her books and as yet unpublished manuscripts.
But the news
about the ducks wasn’t good. They turned out to be two females, which made
Catherine laugh heartily. “Trust me to have two lesbian ducks!” she said. Brian
later provided the ducks with fertile eggs and a brood was happily hatched.
Job done, we
expected no more than a thank-you, but instead were invited to take afternoon
tea with Tom and Catherine – both tea and cake made by Tom himself. It was
obvious throughout our meeting that Tom adored his famous wife. It was an
unforgettable meeting and I left, totally inspired, with Catherine’s parting
advice: “You don’t always have to have a happy ending as long as you leave your
heroine with hope.”
As we left,
my husband stopped to admire a large painting on the hall wall. “Is that a real
Canaletto?” he asked and Catherine smiled and told him: “If it isn’t, I paid an
awful lot of money for it!”
As a thank-you
for Catherine’s hospitality on this occasion I painted a small portrait of a
fluffy duckling and she sent me a lovely letter of thanks, which I treasure to
this day. I later found out that my little duckling was hanging in her hall
next to the Canaletto.
Catherine
later donated rather a lot of money to the Washington Wildfowl Park which
allowed them to build a flamingo house and I suggested that we name the
flamingos after characters in Catherine’s books. She was delighted to hear
this.
Coincidentally,
some time later she phoned the Human Genetics Department in the hospital where
I worked as a medical PA and donated even more money to the research that was
going on there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Popular Posts
-
Deadly Undertaking Click here to purchase ‘Tis the season of the year when the transformation occurs from the darkness of winter to th...
-
Goodbye winter. Hello spring. Another round of setting clocks ahead is behind us as well as all the rant on social media about why we co...
-
https://bookswelove.net/stover-karla/ BY THE SAME AUTHOR: Available through BWL Publishing Parlor Girls Wynter's Way Murder, When...
-
Please click this link for book and author information While researching 1918 fashion for my hist...
-
Click here for purchase options for this award-winning series. https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/ In last month's blog, I told ...
-
The cover of the Ontario offering for the Canadian Historical Mysteries Collection from BWL Publishing to be released November 2024 To fin...
-
Sometimes I wonder how much one person’s voice can actually help when “fighting the good fight” against what seems like ...
-
AVAILABLE HERE I have a cousin in Australia who loves to travel. She and her husband are currently in Vietnam, and the photographs she share...
-
Happy Belated Birthday, Dear Wolfgang! 261 years young & still delighting audiences... http://www.bookswelove.net/autho...
-
Click here to purchase. Winner of Best Historical for 2023 How do I make a German officer during WWII sympathetic? I make him a real pers...