One Book Says It All! Shall We Censor That, Too?

“Books don’t start trouble, Dorothy. Books help stop it!” ~ Dr. Michaela Quinn ~ Given recent discussions on a new edition’s removal of the word ‘nigger’ from Mark Twain’s ADVENTURES OF HUCKLEBERRY FINN, I’d like to share my own thoughts on the matter. As a writer, I have strong opinions on censorship and banned books, to a point where I wholeheartedly strive to join the Greats (L’Engle, Bradbury, Twain, etc.) and achieve a status on the Banned Book List. Why the desire to be considered controversial? These are the stories that make a difference in society! The successful tales that… Continue reading

Language is a two-faced coin

I love language. Being a writer, how could I not? Language is the tool by which we communicate complex, detailed messages between others of our species. It’s how we learn, how we express our emotions. Especially for writers, it’s how we share stories from our lives and our imaginations. Aside from all that, the biggest reason I love language lies within the dissection of individual words. I’m not multilingual with any fluency (alas… but working on it), but I do know that English at least has synonyms for everything. The beauty in this is how it enables writers to choose… Continue reading

How the deepest levels of analysis are collegiately ignored

Four years of university, flawed. Roughly 50 courses taken, and maybe half-a-dozen of those classes proved to be advantageous to [my] expectations of a ‘higher’ education. …I feel cheated. Thankfully, my professor for American Renaissance targeted a collective problem in literary analysis. Every lecture in that early-morning period actually allowed me to grow as a writer. Rather than an endless supply of academic papers written in ‘vomit’ format (quote author, summarize points, repeats for required length), I’ve been steered back toward proper analysis. My final paper for AR contains little more than a phrase or two quoted from any of… Continue reading

Open Water

Solitude… by circumstance if not by choice. She wakes before dawn, stacks her kayak on the car. Once satisfied the boat’s strapped and secure, she crawls behind the wheel and pulls out onto the road. Ten, fifteen minutes. A familiar over-pass comes into sight. The car slows as she turns into the gravelled parking lot. One car greets her. Probably an older couple out for a brisk stroll around the preserve. Or perhaps another solo-explorer, hiking with his dog–providing company to he who hath none. A yawn stretches across her face. Why am I here so early, and alone? she… Continue reading