I’m in Texas until the end of the month. Skyler and I hope to finish up a draft of the next Incrementalists book. I’ve also gotten the line-edit on Hawk from TNH and should be doing a revision over the next week or so. I’ve a start on Vallista, and might get a bit more done on that while I’m here. Finally, there’s the Seekrit Project, that I expect to get a bit more done on pretty soon.
Two collaborations going, and today I started a new Vlad novel–at least, “started” in the sense of making a few notes that I will completely ignore when I start writing.
Currently, my guess is that this will be Vallista, and will come immediately before Hawk. I could be wrong.
As most of you know, I’m inclined to be very conservative with regard to changes in English–my reaction is something like, “Okay, I’ll accept that change as soon as you convince me it makes the language more flexible, and permits finer distinctions.” Now that, in itself, is neither good nor bad. I understand that many battles have already been lost, and if I still use “hopefully” to mean filled with hope and never use it for I hope or all right-thinking people ought to hope, and if I consider “they” to be plural, well, that’s my business, and I’m not about to criticize someone else for using them differently. And lately, I’ve even been trying to grit my teeth and remain silent in the face of “proactive.”
In many cases, especially corporate-speak, I know perfectly well why I hate it: it serves to blur distinctions, and to convey a dishonest subtext (for example, “self-select” in place of “choose” is intended to elevate the importance of the subject, the object, or both).
But what is interesting to me is when I discover exceptions. Blatant misuses of English, usually from the internet, that delight me. I’ve found no pattern for when something makes me grimace in pain, and when it makes me smile.
For example, “U” in place of “you” irritates me, but I actively like “obvs.”
Remember the lolcats thing from a few years ago? I hated that. For about six months. Then, suddenly it made me grin, and I even used it a few times. Why the change? I have no idea.
Much of leetspeak (such as “l33t”) makes me want to hit someone. But there are other things just as bad that I’m totes okay with, and some of them are just adorbz.
So, do you love them all, hate them all, or are there some you like? And if you can figure out a pattern in my taste or your own, I’m interested in hearing it. Because language.
Just for the hell of it, ask questions about writing, and I’ll try to sound smart and erudite. And maybe others will sound smart and erudite. Using this entry as an opportunity to show how clever you are is discouraged. For all of us.
Shadow of the Therapist
It was my sixth session with the guy I’d been told to call Lieutenant, and I was about fed up. He’d started with waterboarding, then moved on to suspension. The third session had featured sexual humiliation, then there was sleep deprivation. Last time had involved beating the bottom of my feet with bamboo. I was brought in this time, and he said, “All right, 78773, today we’re going to do something a little different.”
“I can hardly wait,” I said.
He ignored the sarcasm. “This time, we’re going to expose you to very, very loud music for a period of–”
“Excuse me,” I said.
“Hmmm?”
“Look, I hate to do this.”
“What?”
I twitched a little. I wasn’t good at this stuff. “Well, the fact is, this isn’t working for me.”
“It isn’t . . . ?”
“I feel no more desire to talk than I did before we started.”
He frowned. “You know,” he said, “torturing is a relationship.”
“I know,” I said. “But this just isn’t doing it for me. I’m sorry.”
“What will you do,” he said, “if we switch you to another torturer, and you still won’t talk?”
I shook my head. “Then I’ll move on to yet another.”
“And another and another? If you’re ever going to make progress, you’re going to have to accept that breaking you can take a lot of time.”
“I know that,” I said. “And please don’t take this personally.”
“It isn’t my feelings I’m worried about,” he said. “It’s your future.”
“I think you’re not being honest with yourself,” I told him.
“That isn’t for you to say.”
“No, I suppose not,” I said.
He took in a slow breath. “Well, all right then,” he said. “I’ll speak with the Captain. He does hot irons.”
“That sounds more hopeful,” I said.
“All right. Well, I wish you luck,” he said, and walked out of the room.
I felt bad for him. But you know, I have to worry about my own needs and feelings. Don’t I?