Journal writing

First off, "Journal Writing" is the name of a poem I wrote; you can read it on the online magazine Page & Spine.

The approach to journal writing it describes is the one I use myself, except with fewer pretenses of wringing liquid out of my heart or whatever. In a class I took during postgrad, I noticed something of my own journal writing in the approach to historiography known as the "history of mentalities." This sort of history isn't particularly concerned with looking at past events, considering events to be mere moments; it's more revealing to look at past ways of thinking, which lasted longer and would've surrounded the events.

A couple months before learning that, it was an interest in my own mentalities that led me to start a journal. I saw how my feelings about things in my life were changing with some rapidity and decided to record them. I occasionally write about events, but even then, I focus on how the event has embodied or affected my mentalities.

Combined with an evening walk near Arthur's Seat in Edinburgh, particularly to this spot you see to the left with its tiny, shallow pool, the poem acquired the mountainous landscape imagery that it did.

Swapping character genders

A little low-fantasy short story I've been revising for about six years is nearly ready, according to a recent rejection letter. Enlivened by the encouraging feedback, I set out to make some small changes before submitting it elsewhere, and among them I decided to switch the gender of the protagonist and someone they meet.

Now instead of a working-class man taking the actions and briefly meeting and helping a young woman who inspires him to think in a more revolutionary way, the genders are reversed.

It wasn't too cumbersome a task when the story is under 3000 words. The main difficulty was in how to refer repeatedly to an unnamed young man. When the genders were the other way around, 'girl' worked conveniently enough, but there isn't quite a male equivalent, is there? 'Man' sounds too old, 'young man' is a little clunky, and 'boy' sounds like a child. I switched between 'man,' 'young man,' and 'youth,' a little awkwardly. I made the protagonist's co-worker, who gets in a physical conflict with the protagonist, female as well.

To me, the story felt a bit less gloomy when all the words were the same except the protagonist's gender. As this story is after all meant to be a gloomy one, it's strange and annoying how a woman just seems happier than a man if you don't pay special mind in your narration to the character's brooding, or at least that is the impression I get.

I was surprised, though, how much the story still makes sense when the genders are flipped— I'd thought some reactions and motives would need to be explained more explicitly since they'd just be expected in a male character due to typical narratives but might not be familiar in a female. As it turned out, I didn't feel the need to explain anything more. The things my female protagonist did were slightly unexpected, and I think most people in English-speaking society would primarily cast the genders the original way when considering this plot, but not hard to understand.

I like to think of writing stories as a way in which I can exercise a little agency, and here I went for a subtle, not radical, alternative to following exactly what the most mainstream of culture would have me do. It's not much, but I think it's something.

Of Persona I pen poems two

I've been really enjoying the games Persona 3 and 4. In their honor, I've written a poem for each, both about actual sessions of sitting down and fighting through the dungeons. The meter is alliterative, specifically the sort found in Germanic verse—a fitting form for the fierce heroism / of the ones who wield the Wild Card.

A warning, my Persona 4 poem contains a significant spoiler! So if you might ever play it at all—which I wouldn't have thought I would—do scroll gingerly.


For Persona 3:

The quiet one his quest pursues.
He shall with shotgun the Shadows destroy,
floors advance, friendship strengthen,
the twisting tower testing his skill.
Ready for battle, the wrestler joins him,
and willful child, and wind-hearted lover,
to train their souls. O serpent, lend
Yerkes the strength to the youth command!
His path is obstructed by an impassable foe,
three resilient tanks that Zio can't harm,
guarding the way, gathered to halt
his courageous journey. But rises he calmly,
instills with magic a Stagnant Air,
and induces Panic in the dreaded enemy.
With friends in flesh and figures from myth,
the quiet one's wisdom wins his victory.

For Persona 4 (spoilers!):

Down ruined highways, Hammer chases
the young detective, taker of lives,
to deliver justice. Lurk on road
monsters, Minotaurs, and maddened tanks,
but sharp are the claws of his Shadow friend;
great are the gusts of Garudyne-bro;
whom has been harmed the healer nurtures.
A giant hinders the hero’s mission,
stirs storms with destructive force
with every swing of his edge. To survive,
all maintain order in combat,
assume their places in a single strategy.
As the gold-demon hearkens to Hammer’s pleas
to strike the foe, the friends conspire
to soften the blows and bolster defenses.
The giant toppled, they, rejoicing, find
cornered on coast the killer waiting.

A big flinch at names

I have such a discomfort with names. It's one of the few tendrils of shyness I started having in some form before I developed more 'actual' shyness in my late teens for whatever reason. Addressing people by name or otherwise using the name of a person who's in earshot feels like calling over the entire person, commanding their entire attention. You know the singular way you perk up when you hear your name—and, ooh, the feeling you get when someone mentions you while speaking a language you don't know. It just feels so in-your-face, so unsubtle; even whispering a name is as shouting. Similarly, I'm uncomfortable writing down certain names of people I know, and that's even if I don't plan for them to see it.

Online it's different, by the way. A username feels different as it's not a real name and was chosen by its bearer. In a group chat I feel as though I'm even speaking softer when I use someone's name since it communicates I'm speaking directly to another person, not loudly to everyone at once.

I gave this trait to the main character in a longer work of fiction I'm attempting to write. She isn't me, and the plot is in fact about struggling with a sort of shyness I lack. Still, I enjoyed incorporating a bit of my own experience in there.

But from the beginning, I, myself, have felt something similar to that name-discomfort when using that character's name. I've changed it several times already with the help of the Replace tool: it's gone from Anvorvei to Sanvorvei to Sanvorlei. They're all embarrassing names I've hacked together without etymology, merely obeying the naming and linguistic conventions of my own made-up society, since I didn't want to connect it to any real-world society. It has the side effect of making them feel baseless, like they shouldn't exist. It recalls the issue I have with writing down the names of real people: that sense that I don't really have the authority or the need or something to be doing so.

I thought changing the name would help, since my own discomfort with names in real life seems to vary partly depending on the feel of the name. I can't remember what felt so much better about putting an S in front of 'Anvorvei'—that one might simply have been to make the name more memorable—but the change from V to L was an attempt to render the name less heavy and plodding-sounding, which I thought would make it feel less consequential to say. However, now, about 13,000 very tentative rough-draft words in, I'm feeling like the 'orl' sound makes the name sound too squirmy, which seems awkward to me in a slightly different way. I actually think I'll change it back to the original 'Anvorvei,' made lighter by its vowel beginning and made less squirmy with the V.

I've heard other amateur writers mention the difficulty in choosing names for their characters, too, so that isn't just me. It goes back to that uncomfortable power of names: a single word used to apprehend an entire person. I can see why it is such a hefty decision for the author of a written work, since regardless of however much has been added to the character, they will largely always appear as their name.

Strangely Intertwined

"But the Carnival Had Packed Up and Left" by W. Jack Savage

My short story "Strangely Intertwined" is now up on the new online litmag 99 Pine Street!

That's all.