This week I was reading one of Gertrude Stein’s lectures, ‘Poetry and Grammar’ and something she said made me think about the internet, blogging, and risk taking.

At one point she is talking about the idea that verbs are more interesting than nouns and she points out the following.

“It is wonderful the number of mistakes a verb can make…Nouns and adjectives never can make mistakes, can never be mistaken but verbs can be endlessly so, both as to what they do and how they agree or disagree with whatever they do.” 1

I find this fascinating and undeniably true.

Nouns really are static.

Labels attached by some action not their own. They simply are or they aren’t. No shades of gray. As much ability to unname themselves as I have to teleport to Peru.

The world around me seems to have an awful lot of noun about it’s countenance. Especially these days.

What is your name, where did you publish, who was your teacher, what is your nation, what color your skin, who sleeps in your bed, what car in your driveway, who is your god.

Not a lot of activity there. Just a catalog penultimately incomplete—the parts totaling far less than the whole.

But verbs are altogether a different deal. Stein is right.

Verbs are out there doing, and being, and becoming, and pushing and pushing back.

Which brings blogs to mind for me.

Blogging is definitely a verb gig. The ultimate non-static construct. Writing, thinking, discussing, commenting, linking, reading, thinking some more.

No question. Verb heaven.

And with all that action comes the undeniable potential to make some mistakes. Which, as Stein points out, really is pretty wonderful.

Running with the verbs is exciting.

and risky

And that really is the crux isn’t it?

No guarantees.

To put it out there realizing the possibility it may implode—downsides too plentiful to innumerate.

And doing it anyway.

Chasing upsides of pure possibility.

A dangerous game—winning moves elusive as untempered dragon’s fire.

-

1. Meyerowitz P. Ed., 1971 Gertrude Stein - Writings and Lectures 1909 - 1945

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I wish I could say that when I read of Sir Arthur C. Clarke’s death on March 19th my first thoughts were of his tremendous writing, or were ones of compassion for his family and their loss. But my first thoughts were utterly selfish, my response introspective and visceral. Not a profound or even startling response, just a murmur fluttering in the back side of my stomach, like one’s first thought of dinner still two hours off. It was a sense of space, a small fragment missing that had existed a moment before, a something that had been bull worked into the foundation of my youth suddenly dissipated into non-being.

Clarke was a sort of archetypal figure for me for as long as I can remember. Encouraged by my father, whose love of all things written bordered on the obsessive, I began reading science and science fiction when I was 6 or 7 years old. The writings of Arthur C. Clarke, Isaac Asimov, and Ray Bradbury quickly became my favorites.

I remember with great fondness my bicycle rides to the local town library; a prized reward for finishing chores early on sunny summer Saturdays. On those cherished mornings, I would stop by the card catalog, stand on the stool provided, and read through the cards for a while. I wasn’t really looking for anything in the card catalog, but I loved the swish of the worn oak drawers, the feel of the cool brass drawer-pull curving over my crooked index finger, and the flick flick flick of the cards as I flipped through them reading authors and titles. I especially loved finding a drawer where the metal bracket supporting the cards was out of position leaving the cards loose, or even lying down. I always straightened those cards and positioned the bracket just-so, making it possible to flip through the cards while they still remained upright. In my mind, I was the shoe-maker’s elf providing a much needed service to the harried librarians. On my bike rides home I would imagine with relish the librarians’ delight upon discovering—yet again—the mysterious gift of this service.

After spending a few minutes with the card catalog I would head straight to my favorite place, the Sci-Fi section. It was located in a corner of the library with lots of windows and two big easy chairs I could curl up in. From this area of our town’s small library I could see neither the front desk nor the entry door, which made the transportation to faraway stars and planets so much the easier. (more…)

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