I know the axiom is “write drunk, edit sober”, but for someone like me, who needs little to no encouragement to run her fool mouth off, I’ve always tried to flip that script. Write sober, edit drunk (or buzzed), because I’m far harder on my writing when I’ve got a drink or two in me. Mostly I blame my 12th grade AP English teacher (whose name I cannot for the life of me remember, though I can still picture her rail thin, parched frame), because she’d always hand back my essays with the same critique- “SYNTAX” coupled with a C grade.
I’d ask her what that meant, as the word always baffled me. I never protested the grade, hell, I don’t think I ever finished a single novel we were assigned, so a C seemed pretty generous to me, but the all caps SYNTAX rankled me with its mysteriousness. She told me it was the words I chose to use, the writing “voice” that I demonstrated, that was clunky and inelegant, and somehow that answer always made me madder than if she has just scrawled “OBVIOUSLY DIDN’T READ THE BOOK” on my essay.
I’m a firm believer in the school of thought that says that the more you read, the better writer you become. After all, imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, and high school Cari had ingested what I believed (and still kinda do) was the perfect blend of Douglas Adams, Diane Ackerman, Song of Songs, and Trixie Belden to have created the optimal writing voice. Critique my thoughts on the expression of feminism in The Sound and the Fury, but don’t come at my writing voice.
This is why I love Christy Isinger’s Necessary Judgements so much. No doubt the title comes from some great literary work I was assigned in high school and neglected to read, but I strongly suspect Isinger was NEVER handed back essays bemoaning her issues with SYNTAX. This is an author whose grasp on SYNTAX is decisive and commanding. She is not only a reader, but a writer. Someone whose voice is clearly influenced and honed by the authors she loves so much.
Nerd.
Next up on this cider-soaked stream of consciousness: an actual book I read! Now high school/college/young adult Cari was a voracious reader. But then she started breeding and the season of books came to a swift and decisive end. Excluding children’s books. For a while, Mo Willems’ “Pigeon” series was the undisputed literary champion in the Donaldson household. Pigeon was everywhere. For, like, a kinda alarmingly long time. But then we started the tradition of me reading a book aloud at the start of every school day, and we were able to branch out from picture books and into Serious Literature.
From there, I was able to start dipping my toe back into “silent reading for one’s own enjoyment” and while my progress has been shockingly slow, it’s still progress.
This month I read Michael Finkel’s account of The Stranger in the Woods, an interview with the Hermit of North Pond, who was basically an antisocial thief who terrorized the cabin community of Somerset County Maine for like 30 years.
Basically, the guy was a jerk, men like to romanticize jerk loners, and I’d really love to own a summer cabin in Maine.
Lastly, it’s time to start dividing irises here. I don’t know if you follow me on instagram, anonymous reader, but for me, irises are Very Serious Business. Six weeks after the flower blooms it’s time to dig them up if needed, divide them, and replant. Since irises are the most generous of all flora, oftentimes you’re left with more rhizomes of a particular variety than you maybe can use. Enter iris swapping. With just the tiniest of social finessing, you can secure loads of new kinds of irises, all for the trouble of digging them up and interacting with your fellow humans.
Me, i’ve dusted off my husband’s facebook account (I was locked out of mine a year ago and don’t have the will to open a new one) and have made virtual friends with people in town who have irises to divide and share. So now starts the season of digging, dividing, socializing, and replanting new varieties I will unfailingly fail to properly log and in a year or two I will wander outside and say “Where did THAT iris come from? I have no memory of planting that one!”
Maybe I should chalk up my inability to properly record iris plantings to SYNTAX
Nice to know that no matter what you do wrong, friends can now message you SYNTAX and you'll nod sagely.
I read The Stranger in the Woods a couple of summers ago and it was definitely an interesting read. The idea that you can just disappear and “live off the land” (albeit by thieving your way through the camps of the unsuspecting) makes for an hour or two of incredible daydreams. It was a fascinating book.