Heeeere's Your Sign

I'm thinking it would simplify life if we wore signs that clarify the present situation: things you'd like people to know but get tired of explaining. As a teacher, I used to tell my students at the beginning of the year that there would be days (about six weeks apart) when I would come to school with shorter, darker hair than I'd had the day before. I impressed upon them that they did not need to comment, and--especially--they did not need to ask one of the dumbest questions ever: "Did you do something to your hair?"
It seemed simple to me, but there were always students who didn't get it. They took it as a personal eccentricity of mine, and I'd hear them say to each other, "She doesn't like you to talk about her hair."
So I'm thinking signs might be good. Here are a few you might want.
When a family member is terminally ill, your sign could say, "Same as yesterday. Maybe worse, so don't ask."
When I'm wearing something new: "It seemed like a good idea in the store. I'm reconsidering, based on that look you just gave me."
On really bad skin days: "It's a zit. It will go away eventually."
And days like today: "I have an appointment. My hair will look better tomorrow."

Our Funny Language

A friend posted on FB some humorous interpretations of scientific jargon, which led me to think about English and phrasing. Some of the things that makes our language so hard for others to learn is our love of idioms, our constantly-evolving slang, and our just plain crazy constructions. For example:
1. "Used to" (as in "I used to skip school all the time.") How did that originate? Neither word helps with figuring out what they mean in combination. It would make more sense to say "We from time to time did whatever (although I note that "used to" often means "one time we did" and "always used to" means you did it twice.)
2. "Got to" (as in "I've got to go to the store."--or worse, "I gotta go to the store.") Again, neither word helps with what the phrase means. "I must" makes more sense, and it's even shorter, but you won't hear any American say "I must go to the store."
3. "I could care less." Really? Strictly speaking, that means you care, although how much less you could care is at issue.
4. "He goes" (as in, "I told him I was leaving and he goes, 'Why?'") Odd in a couple of ways. First, "go" and "say" are two very different words. Second, why use present tense to tell something that happened in the past?
5. I'm not sure where this fits in the world of grammar, but I just read a book where the author every once in a while told me what I think by using the "you" pronoun (as in "When you look at art, you feel a sense of awe and communion with mankind." Really? Do I? How does he know I feel anything at all, unless he had a galvanic skin response meter attached to my palms? And if he did, my questions go way beyond art!).
I know it's become common in speech to say "you" as a way of including the listener, but I thought that in writing, we knew better than to tell a person what he thinks. In every case, "I" would have worked, suiting the author's observations and leaving me as a reader to decide if I feel the same way.
I just noticed I went from observing language eccentricities to disapproving of them. Can't help backsliding: I "used to" be an English teacher, remember?

If An Author Sounds Dumb Sometimes...

Yesterday a man said to me, "My wife really likes your new book." He couldn't recall the title, but she'd said it was totally different from everything else she'd read of mine. I formed a theory from that and was just about to say the title when he said, "It's the one that takes place in Grand Rapids."
Oh, THE DEAD DETECTIVE AGENCY. Not the one I was thinking of at all. That book came out last April, and there have been so many on my mind in the time between that it seems really really old to me.
Another time, a man asked at a book signing what year my historical novel HER HIGHNESS' FIRST MURDER takes place. I said a year and added that it was during Henry VIII's rule. He informed me disgustedly that Henry was dead in the year I'd mentioned. I knew that, but at the time I was editing the second book, POISON, YOUR GRACE, which takes place under Edward's reign. That date was stuck in my head.
Authors work far in advance of what readers are reading. When we attend a book signing or speak to your book club, we're editing the next book and writing the one after that. Or we're focused on the new series that will begin as soon as the last of this series is released.
For example, my editor just picked up the first of a new series that we're both really excited about, but she wants Book 2 ready for editing when Book 1 comes out, possibly in the fall.
I often feel like Vonnegut's Billy Pilgrim, unstuck in time. I jump from Tudors to modern to the '60s, and I sometimes have trouble pulling my mind to the right spot when a reader mentions a book. The one that came out in December? That seems like so long ago! I've been in so many different places since then.

Where Might You Fit in History?

So I glance at my Kindle, which is off, and there's a picture of Jane Austen. She's a little plump, with curls around her face, and my mind says, "If I lived back then, I wouldn't be worried about dropping these extra pounds and fretting about my unfashionably curly hair !"
Things we concern ourselves with were no concern at all in other times, so I often think about the advantages of not living in the twenty-first century. Not wearing shoes might be good. Certainly times without bras were better. Days when older women were revered rather than ridiculed. Times when society was small enough that crime was minimal and eccentricities were handled with gentle understanding instead of governmental angst.
I'm not sure which other eras I'm best suited to, but I'm pretty sure I could cope, wherever.
I know what you're thinking: They had bugs. They died at forty. They had no concept of Facebook. Honestly, I see only one of those as a possible problem.

Why Humans Are Really Cool People

I'm reading a book about the brain (again, I know--I do this a lot). The author contends that somewhere along the line, humans took a huge evolutionary step that resulted in something unique to the earth: a creature that can consider its own being. It is that, he contends, not language or opposable thumbs or use of tools or whatever you've heard before, that makes us so special. He says we might imagine our computers taking off their covers and turning their webcams into their interior workings as a metaphor for what we as humans do to get to know ourselves better.
I am intrigued by this idea and by all that goes along with it. It's a very cool thing we do, although it results in both bad and good knowledge. We now know that the brain is amazingly complex, adaptable, and plastic, but we also know it can screw us up royally when something goes wrong.
What amazes me is the number of people who don't seem inclined to use the three pounds of amazing power they carry around with them: the people who accept everything they are told; the people who don't read; the people who actually seem proud of their ignorance. They're so open to manipulation from advertisers (Did you even THINK about whether you need that product?), religious zealots (Are you SURE you want to follow that line of non-logic?), and, especially this year, political rhetoric (Do you REALLY think things are going to change if you vote X into office?)
Having these wonderful brains that can examine, process, and filter isn't enough. We have to use them. So maybe the title of this piece should be "Why Some Humans Are Really Cool People, and the Rest Remained in the Primordial Ooze".

What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up?

I'm preparing a presentation for a group of teachers, and a question I will ask them has come back around to me: How did you come to do the work you do?
I think many of us float into our vocations. For me, a small town girl in the '60s whose mother, grandmother, and great-grandfather had all been teachers, choice wasn't really choosing. It was more doing what I thought I could and should do. Luckily, I loved teaching and made a good living at it.
But now I'm a writer, and I can't imagine doing anything else. What if I'd made that decision forty years ago?
Honestly, I think teaching prepared me for writing. I know there are writers who do brilliant work in their twenties, but I don't think it would have been me. I knew I liked to write, but that isn't the same as having something to say.
John Lennon said that when he was a boy and people asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, he said "Happy." They said he didn't understand the question; he said they didn't understand the answer.
I think what we want to be changes over time. I'm really glad I spent thirty years working with kids, trying to get them to see their potential, before I finally took a breath, looked around, and realized my own.

Bad Songs: Who's to Judge?

I just finished rereading DAVE BARRY'S BOOK OF BAD SONGS. It's hilarious, and even when I disagreed with people's comments about a particular song, I had to admit they had a point.
Bad songs, like all bad poetry, stretch figurative language too far, distort emotion until it's scary, and twist syntax to make a rhyme or a syllable count.
I thought it might be fun to revisit the subject of bad songs, with categories.

Song I liked at first and now despise: "Brown-eyed Girl" I think Van Morrison pays all my local radio stations to play his song every fifteen minutes. I'm not sure why he would do this.

Story song that is really lame: Well, honestly, a lot of them are, but "Last Kiss" has been rescued from its well-deserved obscurity several times, even by such as Pearl Jam. What were they thinking?

Song that makes the singer sound like a maniac: There are lots of them, but the Beatles hit a low point with "Little Girl," which has such lyrics as "I'd rather see you dead, Little Girl, than see you with another man."
Yow!

Song that repeats waaaaay too much: Rod Stewart's "The Motown Song" -Rod is a master of saying the same thing over and over, and granted, it does make it easy to sing along.

Song that gets stuck in my head, even though I hate it: "I've Got Friends in Low Places"-I hate the song, the singer, and the sentiment offered, the old "proud to be dumb and drunk" theme so common in country music.

If you like, you might add to the list, argue with my choices, or just go on your way with Garth echoing in the back of your mind.