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Archive for July, 2014

23 Jul 2014

anything but sleepy.


Happy midweek to you, and happy 126th birthday to detective novelist Raymond Chandler!!

Chandler’s iconic private dick Philip Marlowe was his main character in nine novels – beginning with “The Big Sleep” – and five short stories between 1934 and 1959, as well as ten film adaptations – including 1946’s The Big Sleep, starring newlyweds Humphrey Bogart + Lauren Bacall – between 1942 and 1978.


“The writer who puts his individual mark on
the way he writes will always pay off.”

~ Raymond Chandler ~

16 Jul 2014

weird al: word-crimefighter.

Here are seven words I thought I would never utter [or type, even]: Weird Al Yankovic is my new hero.

He has taken a song I find brutally appalling and made it into an awesomely brilliant writer’s anthem!

All hail King Yankovic and his big dictionary!!!

11 Jul 2014

he did both.


Happy Friday to you, and happy 115th birthday to one of my favorite writers, E.B. White!!

“I arise in the morning torn between
a desire to improve the world and a desire to enjoy the world.
This makes it hard to plan the day.”

~ E.B. White ~

9 Jul 2014

holding your breath.


“All good writing is swimming underwater and holding your breath.”
~ F. Scott Fitzgerald ~

Artwork via Samantha French @ etsy.

4 Jul 2014

the great nation.


Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass was first published on this date in 1855. The first edition received several glowing — and anonymous — reviews in New York newspapers; many of them were written by Whitman himself. One such review read, “An American bard, at last!”

Not too difficult to believe of the guy who wrote the 52-stanza “Song of Myself” … here’s a sampling from stanza 16 that seems appropriate for the day:

I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise;
Regardless of others, ever regardful of others,
Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man,
Stuff’d with the stuff that is coarse, and stuff’d with the stuff that is fine;
One of the Great Nation, the nation of many nations, the smallest the same, and the largest the same;
A southerner soon as a northerner—a planter nonchalant and hospitable, down by the Oconee I live;
A Yankee, bound by my own way, ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth, and the sternest joints on earth;
A Kentuckian, walking the vale of the Elkhorn, in my deer-skin leggings—a Louisianian or Georgian;
A boatman over lakes or bays, or along coasts—a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye;
At home on Kanadian snow-shoes, or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland;
At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking;
At home on the hills of Vermont, or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch;
Comrade of Californians—comrade of free north-westerners, (loving their big proportions;)
Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen—comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat;
A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest;
A novice beginning, yet experient of myriads of seasons;
Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion;
A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker;
A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest.

I resist anything better than my own diversity;
I breathe the air, but leave plenty after me,
And am not stuck up, and am in my place.

(The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place;
The suns I see, and the suns I cannot see, are in their place;
The palpable is in its place, and the impalpable is in its place.)

[There were legitimate reviews, too; Emerson called Whitman’s work “the most extraordinary piece of wit and wisdom America has yet contributed.”]


Happy Independence Day, all!!