I am not creative. And what a relief.

You are not creative*.

Sorry.

And neither am I.

Nothing comes from our heads ex nihilo, out of nothing. The most profound philosophical thought, the most stunning poetic image, the most awe-inspiring (fill in your media of choice) has its prior causes. It may feel like it jumps into the artist’s head fully grown, but there’s no doubt it jumps from somewhere.

We are not creative.

That doesn’t mean we don’t come up with new stuff. Rearrangements are new things, and we can even recognize that there is a continuum for qualifying the rearranged. Mozart rearranged notes. I too rearrange notes occasionally. I would present these as the two extremes in rearrangement for the category of musical talent. Mozart was better at it than I am. I get that our efforts differ widely in quality.

But he was not creative.

He was just better at rearranging the materials.

There’s nothing new here. We all know this intuitively. What I want to emphasize this time (i.e., how I’m going to arrange the materials this time) is that this realization is liberating. Yes, it’s humbling because it pulls us back down to our natures, to our “creature” natures. Humbling is good. But it’s also good because it pulls us back down to what is true about ourselves. And once we’re there, once we accept what we are–creatures–and reject what we are not–not divine, not little gods or big gods, not any kind of god–then we can really start to work.

Instead of waiting for inspiration, we can use the senses and sensibilities that God has given us to stir the materials around us. We can do the hard work of collecting and categorizing and arranging our materials so that our eyes and ears might catch something new in the changing patterns.

We are not creative, but we do have widely differing abilities to see new things in the creation.

This is why I pre-write. I want materials to rearrange. Lots of materials. The more I put in front of myself, the more possibilities I see. The more possibilities I see, the better I am at their rearrangement.

This is why writer’s block is a bunch of bunk. Hear this, writer: you have not been abandoned by your muse. You’re just lazy. Put words to paper, even ugly words in bad sentences, and keep doing it.

Rearrange.

And rearrange again.

And eventually you will see and hear something new.

So take relief from the fact that you’re not God.

Relax.

You don’t need to be creative.

You just need to WORK.

*disclaimer: this is an exercise in word and meaning. I am not suggesting that we throw out the word creative. It’s a useful adjective. Creativity is a useful noun. But we tend to make these terms include too much. You can bake a cake, but you don’t create one. You use ingredients that you didn’t make, rely on chemical changes you didn’t invent, and entrust it all to physical laws that you didn’t write. You arranged created elements, but you did not create anything. Not according to this definition of the word anyway. Now, according to the most common use of the word (remember, dictionaries don’t prescribe word usage, they describe it), are you creative? You might be if you present things in new and interesting ways. 

LESS or FEWER?

Similar to the more/most error, this one is fixed by being mindful of number.

WRONG: The less mistakes we make, the quicker we’ll get it cleaned up.

RIGHT: The fewer mistakes we make, the quicker we’ll get it cleaned up.

Mistakes are countable items, so we use fewer. It’s in this direction–using less to modify countable items–that the error is more common because it just doesn’t sound all that wrong.

We don’t have a problem catching the error in the other construction: I would like fewer syrup on my pancakes, please. We know intuitively to use less with uncountable items like syrup.

Using the terms amount and number are similar.

We all know this is wrong: The number of water in my basement was shocking.

But we might make this error: I was shocked at the amount of empty cans floating in my basement. Because cans is a countable item, standard usage requires number.

MORE or MOST?

WRONG: There are two dogs in my yard. The schnauzer is the biggest.

RIGHT: There are two dogs in my yard. The schnauzer is the bigger.

This common misstep is an easy one to fix. A few examples usually do the trick. Note the number of things being compared. That determines which form to use:

I have two sons. Charlie is the older, Lewis the younger.

I have five sons. Charlie is the oldest, and Bennett is the youngest.

And here’s the rule for those needing a rule: The comparative (-er ending) form of an adjective is used for comparing two people or things, while the superlative (-st ending) is used for comparing one person or thing with every other member of a group of three or more.

And when an adjective takes the more/most form, the idea is the same:

Of my two boys, Lewis is the more athletic.

Of all my sons, Charlie is the most affable.

Of all the grammar rules, this is one of the simplest to learn.

Speaking of Compound Fractures…

Sorry. No gruesome video to watch here. And yes, that was a cheap hook.

But this is serious stuff. We’re talking about hyphens.

I’ve proofed hundreds of website pages written by lawyers, doctors, scientists, business people, and all-around experts in various and sundry fields and pursuits. And without hesitation, I can say that this is the most common mechanical error: the unhyphenated compound adjective.

North of Lansing on US 127 a sign reads New Wood Store. Every time I see it I wonder if people are confused. Is that a wood store that’s new? Or a store that sells new wood? I assume it’s the latter, but a hyphen would let me avoid the assumption. No confusion with New-Wood Store.

When a two-part adjective sits in front of the noun it modifies, the two need to be made into one. Look back at the last hundred words or so and you’ll find two examples: “all-around experts” and “two-part adjective.” The logic is simple. When two or more words are working together to create one modifier, and when those two words sit in the traditional spot right in front of the object word, they’re really acting as one modifier. We make them one by using a hyphen.

Here are a few examples from my novel Catastropolis:

stone-and-mortar wall

well-packed space

five-gallon pail

grown-up thoughts

almond-shaped eyes

These compound adjectives all precede the object word, but if they follow it, no hyphen is needed. The space was well packed. Her eyes were almond shaped. In this construction either the grammar changes (well becomes an adverb) or there’s no potential confusion in leaving out the hyphen.

Also, be careful with compound nouns as in this situation: red plum tree. Here we do not have a tree that is red-plum but a plum tree that is red. Know where the ideas of adjective and noun separate.

So don’t fracture your compounds. Keep them joined with a hyphen.

Think of it as a grammatical bone splint.

Dang those modifiers!

Dangling modifiers are common in even the most carefully proofed copy. These are hard to catch because they don’t LOOK like errors and at a glance they don’t break intuitive grammar logic.

Having read countless books on the subject, the research paper seemed to write itself.

It’s clear what the speaker means to say here, that she had an easy time with the paper because she read a lot. But the sentence actually says that the research paper read countless books. In English, when a sentence begins with an adjective phrase, it modifies the noun or pronoun following it. As in Exhausted, he sought shelter. Exhausted must decribe what follows it–he.

But what follows the adjective phrase in our example? The research paper. Yes, it’s a noun, but it’s probably not the noun that read countless books. In fact, there’s no one in the sentence who could have read countless books; thus we call the error a dangling modifier.

Here’s a similar problem:

Undaunted by the storm, the torn sails were quickly repaired by the expert crew.

Again we have an introductory adjective phrase, so the thing following it should be whatever or whoever was undaunted. But clearly the torn sails were not undaunted, the crew was. We call this error a misplaced modifier.

AN EASY FIX…

Because these sentences intuit a clear meaning, the errors can be hard to catch. Here’s how: look for the comma. When you have intro adjective phrases like these, it’s usual practice whether you know what you’re doing or not to put in a comma at the pause. So if you’re doing that, just look to see what comes after the comma. Is it being described by that opening phrase? If so, great. If not, re-work it.

 

 

A Nagging Little 7-letter Word

Before I even say the word, I’ll qualify my use of it.

First, I do not mean that I am opposed to the existence of government. Men are fallen creatures. We do bad things to each other, and we need a sword-wielding civil magistrate to punish the wrong-doer. I’m on board with that much at least.

Nor do I use the word in its common connotation of chaos and lawlessness. As a Christian who worships the only true God who brings order out of chaos as a matter of course, I am opposed in every way to chaos, and I’m zealous for God’s law because it reflects his character.  Amen.

Finally, I have no desire to overturn cop cars or protest world-trade events, and I have no desire to occupy anything.

The word is anarchy, of course.

So what do I mean by it? And why am I thinking of it?

It’s a Venn-diagram thing. My circle (libertarian) has a big overlap section with the anarchy circle. We both believe some of the same things:

1. That the State-Citizen relationship is a lop-sided one (it should be lop-sided, but the poles reversed long about the time of Lincoln)

2. That the State’s role is entirely based on coercion (just try not paying your income tax)

3. That this coercion is based on the threat of physical harm (the State arms itself while disarming the citizens; Mao was right about one thing: power does proceed from the barrel of  a gun)

4.  That the only movement open to the State is expansion (it cannot contract anymore than you could bite off your pinky), which means that barring a cataclysmic event, the State will exert more and more power on its own behalf at the cost of less and less freedom for you and me

5. That most of what government does, because of points 1-4, should be eliminated (Headstart sounds like a good idea, but it’s funded through theft, so it’s a terrible idea)

6. That private enterprise can and should take over most of whatever’s left after point 5

That’s a pretty big football-shaped piece of the diagram, and there’s probably more depending on how you pare out the particulars. So what’s left on the crescents? Here are a few points where our circles don’t overlap:

1. I do believe that gov’t in some limited form has a (tiny) place in our lives (it should defend our borders and guarantee protection of private property). Anarchists believe we can do without it.

2. I don’t believe that man is inherently good. Some anarchists believe we are and that we only become tainted by power. Some, like anarchy’s elder statesman Murray Rothbard, see man as a mix of good and bad.

3. Anarchists don’t seek lawlessness, but a society where laws are unnecessary. That sounds attractive, but I know that given our fallen natures, it can’t happen, so I don’t believe that anarchy can actually work. That’s a pretty fundamental difference, I’d say.

But I do believe that anarchists (the thoughtful ones anyway) have a lot to say about the evils of the State–namely, that the State is evil.

Anarchy.

It’s not what I once thought it was. Maybe that’s why it nags me.

SPORT: a new definition

So I’m channel flipping and I come across a hotdog eating contest on ESPN.

A hotdog eating contest.

That shouldn’t have surprised me when I recall that I’ve recently watched a spelling bee, snowmobile and airplane races (separate, not racing each other, as cool as that would be), poker, billiards, skeet shooting, and fishing all on the same network.

Now, I’ll grant this–the E in ESPN does stand for entertainment, and those things are no doubt entertaining to some segment of the viewing public. I love airplane races and did get sucked into a riveting half hour of spelling where I at least once shouted at the TV, “Get the language of origin!” So I’m not suggesting such things aren’t entertaining or competitive. They can be. I just can’t help but wonder if there shouldn’t be clearer lines drawn, lines that would separate things like rugby from kids spelling words-you’ve-never-heard-before or football from men playing card games. ESPN is the sports network, right? There should be clearer lines around this stuff, right?

I think, yes. So I’m going to help ESPN by proposing some new lines, a change in the definition of the word sport. This should help their programming decisions immensely.

Here it is…

Sport: n. an activity in which two or more participants engage in all of the following: 1) they compete with each other directly; i.e. both competitors are present simultaneously in the area of play; 2) it’s athletic: a majority of the body’s muscles must be skillfully utilized; 3) there is a ball (or some other object: e.g. puck, shuttlecock) that acts as the central point of contest; and 4) there is a clear method of scoring that does not require a third-party judge (referees and umpires notwithstanding).

That’s it. Four simple criteria that anyone can apply to any competitive situation for a quick assessment as to its sportness. No more guessing, doubting, guffawing. It’s black and white.

This doesn’t mean there aren’t athletes in other activities. This isn’t about that, it’s about semantics. I’m just not going to refer to those activities any longer as sports, and it’s my hope that the world will join me. Boxing, biking, skiing, all forms of racing–these are not sports. Are there athletes competing in them? You bet. They’re just not athletes competing in sports; they’re competing in…well, boxing, biking, skiing, and racing. Competitive activities, but not sports.

It’s a realigning of categories, that’s all.

So the biggies are still in: football, baseball, basketball, hockey, soccer, tennis, cricket–yes, cricket–rugby (trying to think internationally). These all meet the criteria. They’re all sports. Admittedly, the new definition does allow for some questionable entries–ping pong, for example. At the gut level, ping pong (or anything else you can do in your basement) just doesn’t seem like a sport.

But wait! We don’t need the gut any longer. The objective criteria will tell us. Two competitors directly and athletically involved in a clearly score-able contest using a ball? Yep, ping pong’s a sport. How about skateboarding–is that a sport? Let’s see, two or more participants in the same space? Nope. Is it athletic? Yes. A ball? No. Is it self-score-able or do you need a Judge? Judge, so no again. That’s one out of four, folks. Skateboarding’s not even close to being a sport. Not anymore. We all knew that intuitively, but now we can say it to the punks in front of 7-11 with some confidence.

So congratulations to ping pong and dodgeball. Apologies to my many golfing friends (you lost sports status on point #1). But guys, you knew all along didn’t you? Deep down, I mean, you knew that anything you could do while drinking that much beer could not possibly be a sport.

ESPN, I look forward to seeing what you do with this. You’re Welcome.