Any good writer should be able to create a written masterpiece capable of transporting the reader into a wonderland of imagination, carrying the mind into realms of exquisite delight. The writing should be good enough to give the story wings, in other words.

Wings.

Not feet.

Serif fonts used as body text seem to be the written visual cousin to hoarding. Why should a font take up that extra space? Why should I allow some letters to clutter up the hallway and force me to meander around? Who needs the extra ink on the page? There is a local independant newspaper/magazine that I could take for free from a dispenser right outside the Post Office. It’s a publication that’s been around for several years. Usually I like free. Unfortunately, this paper uses a poor grade paper with a seriously smeary ink and…a serif font.

Yes, let’s put as much ink on the paper as we can, because it’s such a fun, charcoal-y ink. Pour it on, serifs.

Serious writers should avoid serif fonts so that the words are forced to do the serious work.

My words don’t need feet. They need to stay right where they are. If the work I give them — the work of carrying my story or opinion — is too much, the last thing I want to provide them with is an escape mechanism. It’s bad enough when readers walk away.

Nope.

My mind periodically imprisons itself with useless cyclical information.

For nearly six years, Edgar Allen Poe’s “The Raven” has randomly run through my head. The song “Sleigh Ride” is the first tune off my lips when whistling or singing. I frequently sing-song my thoughts to the tune of “Camptown Ladies.” And now, “galactic cheerleader.”

Several years back, I’d read a scholarly article on the uniforms and personal grooming of the crew of the USS Enterprise as exhibited in the Star Trek: TNGtelevision show, and how the changes in the uniform and grooming bespoke of cultural and personal changes that the characters were exhibiting. The article suggested several fascinating undercurrents of story line that could be traced merely by noting the uniforms of the characters. In particular, Counselor Deanna Troi’s comparative analysis sticks in my head, even beyond Captain Picard, because of one turn of the phrase the writer used: Galactic Cheerleader.

Early on, Counselor Troi appeared to be little more than a Galactic Cheerleader. As fans know, however, Troi eventually became a formidable officer and even manned the bridge.

Oh, God. I knew I was done for when I read it. It had just the right amount of verbal cacophony, just the right amount of visual hilarity. That is not going to be a useful phrase, Julie, I thought.

I did a fair job of putting it to death eventually and had forgotten it, but as I pressed my mind to think of useful space terminology, it wasn’t “supernova” or “cosmos” or “space ship” or “solar flare” that came to mind. It was Galactic Cheerleader.

Hands poised on my keyboard, ready to write my own version of what could possibly equal the Magna Carta, and all that came to mind was Galactic Cheerleader.

I chose to abuse and “tweak” the format.

Capitol Shakespeare, as opposed to your “Capital Shakespeare” (YouSpelledItWrong, 2011), will be attended on Saturday evening. [...] I broke my old glasses today — they just fell apart at the bridge of the nose on my face. I am gluing them now (Bummer, 2011). [...] I do think we should watch the movie “Amelia” at some point, since I am sort of infatuated with Amelia Earhart (TerribleLandings, 1937). Does this seem amenable to you? (ObeyMe, 2011)

What if we were required to write and speak with sources in real life? Perhaps it would cut down on the more annoying levels of chit chat that reduce me to a ball of anger.

“Sure is a nice sunny day out there (NimrodSpeakethTheObvious, 2011).”

It’s the every day possibilities that have my attention, at work and otherwise.

They: “I would like the chicken ranch salad, but with the dressing on the side and no onions, and could you just throw in a side of fries (YourMenuIsNotGoodEnoughForMe, 2011).”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t serve fries here (CanYouRead, 2011).”

It would seem, at least in written communication, to provide a way to speak softly and carry a big, insulting stick, all in the name of “reference” and “accuracy.” Instead of using the dated HTML methods to indicate a sarcastic comment (which required all parties to understand the basics of HTML, and never properly segued into a CSS counterpart), we could now assume all parties would understand the concept of providing proper documentation for every thought that was spoken. This would widely open the doors of possibility between those two parentheses.

For example, here are a few that could be used by a mechanic, as I have so recently discovered:

• (WeCanGetAFewHundredMoreOutOfHer, 2011)
• (MyChildIsGoingToCollegeSomeoneHasToPay, 2011)
• (BetYouWishedYouTookMoreShopClasses, 2011)
• (Sucker, 2011)

The key to communication in the future which allows for pleasantries up front and truth at the back (sort of like a verbal mullet) is to source everything. (Neidlinger, 2011)

It didn’t.

Horrifically, the writer of the email had the audacity to call some members of the organization who do nothing but sign up at renewal time “useless.” If there’s anything I have learned in years of belonging and participating in organizations, its that you don’t actually state the obvious problem. You file paperwork instead.

There’s no way someone isn’t going to fry this guy, I thought. I couldn’t necessarily disagree with him, nor, do I imagine, could many of the other active members of the organization. However, you just can’t say things like that or anarchy will set it. Anarchy, or officially lodged complaints. One of the two.

It took just one day for the follow-up apology email to arrive.

Let me tell you, this one was a book.

In as many words as possible, the writer expressed an apology without really saying he was sorry or wrong. It included a paragraph on the complexity of the English language and how different words meant different things. It included a section on how to reinterpret the words that had offended and how they were not a flippant dismissal of people. It included a promise to be more careful about word usage. By the time I got to the end of it, I had rather forgotten what it was about, though I was pretty sure it wasn’t exactly an apology.

I didn’t really care, either way.

Sometimes, whether you’re right or wrong, it’s just better to say, in as few words as possible, that you’re sorry and you screwed up and be done with it. Throw the dogs a bone and walk away. No amount of writing will ever convince people of the extent of your heartfelt apology; you can’t take words back when people are already up in arms. Usually, those are the people who love being up in arms as a default state of being, and there’s no talking them off the ledge; you might as well make the apology official, brief, and get on with your day. They’re still going to key your car at some point over the next five years, but at least you’re on record as saying “I’m sorry.” Too much protesting (methinks the lady doth protest too much!) reads as face-saving insincerity…

…which this email did. It seemed less apology and more like the writer was now saying everyone had misinterpreted him. I thought that that was a delightful tack, since all that does is make the people who were upset about the first email doubly upset, because they are now being called stupid.

People and words are awesome combinations!

Years of blogging and getting involved in online arguments and the futility therein have taught me the value of brevity (the soul of wit!). Think of it in terms of Twitter: if you can’t say it in 140 characters or less, hire an editor.

Back when I was part of the Lake Region Writers Group, meeting every two weeks and taking part in writing assignments and projects, I often bought books on writing. I lined them up on my shelves alongside the notebooks I used for the writing challenges and assignments from our group meetings. Some of the books I bought were filled with writing prompts (to use at the writing group), some were on “guerrilla” techniques to selling your self-published book (let me just say that your close friends and family won’t be picking up your call after a while), and some were filled with suggestions on developing a novel and story line.

The latter never worked for me.

I just don’t like reading a book telling me how to write one.

So there I stood in Barnes and Noble, immersed in style guides and books telling me the best way to do everything from set up my own private writing room to the value of silence to the value of noise to how to sharpen my pencil to how to sharpen  my creativity, and I realized just how far I’ve left writing behind. I realized how I’d forgotten the simple truth: Success as a writer comes from writing.

My writing has very much changed in the past two years; changed in quantity, in geography (more in my journals, less on the blog), and in subject.

I didn’t buy any book on writing. I could read a book about playing the piano, but the only way I’m going to get better is to actually play my piano. I don’t need another how-to book that I’m not going to read.

However, I simply can’t end this blog post with that poor of a resolution to the matter at hand. Back when I was eagerly wanting to create SEO-friendly content and make beaucoup bucks through my blog like many bloggers in the early 2000′s, I spent much time gathering tips and suggestions on how to write a blog post that would generate hits. One such tip involved the use of providing readers a list (generally three to five steps) of things they could do to achieve the promised result. This would apparently guarentee an increase in unique page hits and exploding traffic that would line my pockets with gold and shower me with silver coins.

How to be Successful as a Writer:

1. You will need a pen or pencil or electronic device such as a laptop or word processor or even something like an iPad though some people don’t enjoy typing on the iPad so you may want to stick with a more traditional computer or analog method like pen and paper.
2. Learn to kill the run-on sentence.
3. Short works. Ask Hemingway.
4. Write every day. Avoid books that give you writing prompts for every day because all you’re doing is paying the college tuition for the kids of a writer who only had to come up with silly half-ideas like “Imagine you found the Venus de Milo’s arms. Write about it.”
5. A personal journal is nice. Avoid journals with spiral binding because I personally don’t like those.

And, having said all of that, here I am, writing about writing.