So, we* knew we’d be sorry that we didn’t go to the “Literary Death Match” recently held in San Francisco.

I usually get something out of the readings and literary panels that I go to – sometimes inspiration, sometimes a good laugh that I have to hold in until I’m a polite distance from the event. But I have never been to one that erupted into multigenerational violence.

One of the judges, Howard Junker of Zyzzyva, said that Stephen Elliott of McSweeney’s “had no literary merit” as a writer. Later, Elliott threw beer on Junker! Yowza.

Elliott’s response:

“I don’t understand why Junker left last night,” said Elliott the next day. “I had a shirt in my bag he could have borrowed.”

You can read the sordid details here. And you can read about the time Howard Junker threw a book at my head here.

Update: Junker blogs his side of the story here.
–Marcia

*Self-conscious footnote: We = Joy and me; I do not use the royal we to refer to myself

All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know. –Ernest Hemingway.

What is a true sentence? This page has some ideas. A true sentence:

• shows instead of tells
• uses sense words
• uses active verbs
• does not use the following forms of the verb “to be”: is; are; was; were; has, have, had been.

• has specific details; concrete objects; no abstractions; sense words
• uses metaphors and word pictures
• has no unnecessary or weak words (cut away, tighten)

But I think Hemingway also means a metaphorical truth. A true sentence contains a truth of life, even if it is a small one. It’s an interesting concept, writing a story of all true sentences–and I don’t mean imitating Hemingway here. Would all those little truths add up? Would they mean one big truth? Would the truths conflict? Can truth override the structure of fiction, which is one big lie?

We will have to do a prompt around this concept, WPs.

~ Joy

Today, I read a post on StreetTech that gave me an idea for something I think as writers we should all take the time to do every once in a while: Let other writers know when their work has inspired us or simply made our day a little brighter.

Gareth Branwyn was relating his stories of the handful of times in his 25-year writing career when someone bothered to let him know that his writing had affected them. The most dramatic example:

I had a guy come up to me, after a talk years ago, who said that the Happy Mutant Handbook had literally saved his life. He’d decided to go through with the grim deed the coming weekend. But in the meantime, he’d happened upon the HMH in a bookstore, bought it and had spent the weekend reading, postponing his date with the big sleep by the hour. He ended up being so tickled, so inspired by the book, he’d decided not to off himself by the time he’d finished. And so, there he was, at the podium, thanking me for saving his life. This utterly stunned me, the idea that my work had, in even the smallest way, helped save the life of another human being. It made the months and years of little-to-no positive feedback well worth the wait.

We know first-hand how sometimes it can feel like we’re writing for no one but ourselves (and maybe our loved ones). So I initiate this Word Pirates initiative: Let a writer know something he or she has written meant something to you and had a positive impact on you. Heck, even if it’s a well-thought-out comment on a blog you read frequently, go out and give some rewards. Maybe you’ll get some, too.

–Marcia

The Word Pirates have events. For example, we recently had our summer BBQ. Steve and his family generously opened his house up to us on July 12, 2007. We ate tasty food and played DDR. It was a delightful time for all.

Pictures:

Diane, Laura, and Noelani

Steve and Robin

What a spread

Laura is impressed

WPs get down

WPs are tall.

Oh yeah, Marcia and Joy were there too.

~ Joy

Ha! New potential member Ross wrote about the Word Pirates on his blog:

“Pretty good,” I said. “They seem like a good bunch of people. You’d have liked them. Did I tell you the name of the group yet?”

“No,” said Maddie. “At least I don’t remember if you did.”

“They’re called the Word Pirates.”

Maddie’s ears perked up. “Really, pirates? Did you guys meet on a boat?”

“No,” I replied.

Maddie closed one eye suspiciously. “Was anyone wearing an eyepatch?”

“Um, no.”

“How about hooks for hands or wooden legs?”

“Not that I noticed,” I replied.

“Rum?”

“One of the guys brought a bottle of wine.”

So, here’s a British TV show that America is unlikely to steal adapt: Balderdash & Piffle. (I love that name)

It’s a show about people updating the Oxford English dictionary. Viewers are given a wordhunt in which they are supposed to research the etymology of words and phrases to see if they can find an earlier usage than the one listed in the OED. And people do! So, basically this is a reality show about the dictionary that asks the public to be word detectives. I love it.

Here’s an example of one that is still unsolved:

Morgan, who is in Europe, sent the Word Pirates a postcard. Here it is:

Front

“Ahoy Word Pirates!

Behold the world famous pirate tower overlooking Ibiza’s Es Vedra island; it took me awhile to find a pirate-themed postcard in Spain, but it was worth the search. Salud!

– Morgan”

Thanks Morgan! Hope you’re having a great trip.