Wednesday, January 30, 2013

The Librarian Explains

At last, I've heard from the Ninja Librarian again.  He sent me this bit, which seems to relate to an incident described by Big Al in her narrative of his first year in Skunk Corners.  Without further ado,
The Librarian Explains. 


The Librarian Explains
Once again, I feel it behooves me to present my own view of events in our town of  Skunk Corners.  Alice does her best to be fair, of course,  but she is not in a position to see all sides of things.  For example, I know that Alice never thought I stood up for her properly in the matter of the fellow who came courting.  I refer, of course, to the man who called himself Nebuchadnezzar Jones, to  whom she was forced to present an exceptionally clear indication of her lack of interest in any form of romantic involvement.
   I might, it is true, have handled that situation in a more helpful manner.  The difficulty, of course, lay in the fact that I know very little about young girls, and still less about the sort of young woman that is Alice.  To be sure, there are unlikely to be any others quite like Alice, so it is wrong to speak of her “sort.”  Alice is, I believe and hope, in many ways unique.
   But I can see Alice giving me that particular look that says she doesn’t believe I am telling the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.  She is still young enough to believe that she should know everything—and, perhaps, that her way of seeing things is the only way.
   I admit to being rather taken aback when Alice presented to me her concern that the young man who had watched her practicing her kicks and blocks down by the watercourse meant to court her.  It struck me as unlikely that such a young man would recognize the value of a young woman as unconventional as our Alice.  Still less did I trust his assertions that she was the most beautiful creature he’d seen.
   Alice is the child of my heart, and is a great deal more good-looking than she allows herself to appear.  But she is not, as he tried to tell her, the loveliest woman ever.
Thus, my suspicions were aroused when Alice reported to me that the gentleman—I use the term to offer the man the benefit of the doubt—had run on about her loveliness.  I would have trusted him farther had he simply said that he admired her strength and thought she would handle life on his homestead well.  I would not have liked him any the better, as I do not believe that a man should evaluate a potential mate as though she were a draft horse, but I should have known then exactly what his intentions might be.
   Because Mr. Jones took us both by surprise with his claims of being rendered nearly senseless by her beautiful presence, neither of us could immediately establish an appropriate response.  Being further uncertain of Alice’s own desires in this matter, I chose to keep my mouth shut.
   Now, I know that Alice will tell you that she made her feelings completely clear to me, and so I should think she did.  But I have known young women in my early life. . . though perhaps the least said of that the soonest mended.  I did choose to separate myself from this event, so that there should be no opportunity of reproach.

   In the event, of course, as Alice has made clear in her own narration of the events, keeping my mouth shut left me open to strong reproach indeed.  I left the young woman to resolve her romantic troubles on her own, and as a result she was forced to fight off an attack from out of the dark.
Though I will point out, as she will not, that Neb Jones never stood a chance.

   And yet. . . as Miss Alice would say, I am dancing around the truth.  If I am to be wholly honest, as was my intent in writing to you, I will say that I had no wish to encounter the young man for reasons of my own.
   Neb Jones was not, in fact, a stranger to me.  I believe that he actually came to Skunk Corners in search of me, with intent to wreak some form of revenge. 
   I met Mr. Jones on the train coming west.  He was, as I came to understand, running a con on what he would doubtless refer to as “suckers,” or “ignert greenhorns.”  That I was, in fact, as green as the hills in spring, I have already confessed to you.  I am not, however, a fool.  Though I was taken in my Mr. Jones’ gambit in the beginning, I soon saw that he was less than honest.  Further, I saw that he had “taken” several poor immigrants for sums that they could surely ill afford. 
   I therefore exposed the man, and assisted him to leave the train rapidly.  In that, I gathered, I had done him something of a favor.  The other victims of his efforts, having recovered their valuables, were in favor of more violent reprisals.
   Mr. Jones, however, seemed to have little appreciation of the manner in which I had saved him from a worse fate, and vowed revenge.  How he found me in Skunk Corners I do not know, but I had little desire to meet him, feeling that I would either be forced to treat him with violence or would become the brunt of his coarse ribaldry for my failure to initially recognize his falsehoods.
   I had not thought that he might cause trouble in town by other means.  I still am not certain if he attached himself to Alice because she was my pupil, or merely out of what she might call cussedness.  He may have thought to humiliate her, or he may have had some idea that she would be easy prey to a man with a tongue he apparently considered golden. 
   Had Alice been a different sort of girl, I would, of course, have intervened at an early date.  Naturally, she never knew that I watched all that he did, albeit discretely.  I had no wish for him to even learn for certain that the man he sought was in Skunk Corners, and in fact he did not.  I beg you to understand that this sprung not from any physical cowardice, but rather from a worse source: a fear that I would lose my hard-won standing in the community.  This I greatly regret.
   Nonetheless, I believe that the outcome of the incident proved better than I deserved.  To wit: Alice learned to make up her own mind about a possible suitor, with no advice from a perhaps too-respected elder. 
   She then learned to discourage him through a series of escalating tactics, from simply declining to associate with him, through the final discouragement by means of the very fighting skills I have been at pains to teach her.  Finally, she learned to speak up—and speak back—to her townspeople.  I do not think that Alice herself has realized it, but from that point forward, the denizens of Skunk Corners have listened to what she says.  Not only those who like her, but also those who dislike or distrust her, or are merely flummoxed—to use her own word—by such a one as our  Alice.

   She does not yet see it, and might not like it if she did, but Alice has become a leader in her community.

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Monday, January 28, 2013

Blog Awards

I have, at last, entered the world of blog awards.  At least, I've been nominated for one.  Curious as to how this works with the official-looking widget and all, who's behind it, and who decided that I was worthy of an award, I did a little research.  After all, it seems like most of the bloggers I follow are being nominated for awards every week or two.  There are an awful lot of awards out there, and at some point it seems to me to start losing validity.  So, I started researching the Leibster Award (the one I'm tagged on.

Conclusions:
A blog award is a chain letter.  Just like the blog hop self-interview I did late last year, "The Next Big Thing," there is a set of questions to answer, and an obligation to "nominate" other bloggers.  Now, the idea of a blog hop doesn't bother me.  It gives you something to write about and maybe encourages some people (from the blogs before and after you) to look in and maybe they'll like what they see and follow you.

But calling it an award?  I'm not there.  To me, an award is earned and adjudicated.  The Leibster Award only has one criterion: have less than 200 followers.  Since it also obliges you to nominate 11 more people, you can see where this could easily result in nominating darn near everyone you know.  For that reason--and because I'm not really a big fan of chain letters--while I thank Karen's Different Corners for the nomination, I won't be biting on this one.

Unless, of course, I really need a blog topic and want to use that interview.  Because ultimately, we all like to talk about ourselves.  And an official-looking badge is kind of nice.  But I'll wait to win one for something more meaningful than being small, something that says that at least one person thought my blog was special in some meaningful way (and yes, I know I may wait a long time for that).  Even better: the Pulitzer Committee comes for me.  Yeah, I know.  Look, up in the sky!  It's a bird. .  . it's Superman!   No, it's a flying pig!!

Friday, January 25, 2013

Pen vs. Keyboard

So here it is, the biggest question faced by every 21st-Century writer: do I write in longhand (or, in my case, a nearly unreadable scrawl developed out of years of note-taking and an utter inability to master cursive*)?  or do I boot up the computer, try to ignore the mind-sucking siren call of the internet, and draft my next book on the keyboard?

Advantages of the pen:
1.  Engages the whole body with the brain and makes me think a little differently.  Slows me down, makes me think before I write.
2.  I can haul my little notebook everywhere, and write in any spare moment.  I actually do this, often better than I do sitting at home during my designated writing time.
3.  Typing it into the computer so I can edit is an editing process in itself and a good way to jumpstart each day's writing.
4.  I'm not sure there is a #4.

Disadvantages of the pen:
1.  I may not be able to read what I wrote.
2.  I can't write for very long before my hand cramps up.
3.  I can't write as fast as I can type, or think (see Advantage #1).
4.  It all has to be typed anyway before I can edit.

Advantages of the keyboard:
1.  I can type really fast, so it encourages me to write lots and get it out when the ideas are flowing.
2.  I can read what I wrote.
3.  It corrects my spelling/typing as I go, or at least tells me it needs correcting.
4.  It's automatically saved and backed up.

Disadvantages of the keyboard:
1.  I can type really fast, so it encourages me to write lots without stopping to think.
2.  I can't easily haul it around and write wherever I happen to be.
3.  It distracts me from writing by telling me that I can't type/spell.  I can so.  I'm just in a hurry.
4.  I think differently at the keyboard, and once written, it all looks so nice and pretty, it must be good.
5.  (This one is big): My keyboard is connected to my computer which is connected to the Internet.  I'll just read one more article. . . .

So what is my decision?  Back and forth, some of each.  In other words, I can't make up my mind. Anyone else have notebooks with chunks of stories, missing the bits that were drafted at the computer?

*Cursive (n): a style of writing named for the cursing that children do while learning it and teachers do while teaching it.  Writers also curse while trying to read it, especially their own, especially when written while lying half upside down and overdosed on caffeine.