Attack of the Silent B's

subtle: subtlety ; unsubtle ; subtlize
doubt: redoubt ; doubtful ; doubting ; doubtless
bomb: bomber ; bombing ; firebomb ; nailbomb ; bombast [The B asserts itself in the describing of "Grandiose but empty language"]
aplomb
debt
comb
numb
dumb
crumb: crumble [Aha! The B asserts itself in the act of crumbling!]
plumb
plumber: plumbing

How many more Silent B words are there? How & Why has such a strange (and decidedly unsubtle) construction entered the English language?

Further Notes on the Writing Process

[As an actor must perform as if there is no audience, a writer must write as though there were no audience. This at first may seem nonsensical; of course there is no audience in the moment of writing: No external audience. The audience in the moment of writing is internal. Some witness inside the writer judges everything he writes. Is the witness an editor? A censor? A procrastinator? A floating eye? A gossip? An idler? A shiftless layabout? A Roman Emperor demanding to be fed grapes by beautiful women and fanned by eunuch slaves? A crybaby? A gremlin? A deviant narcoleptic? It doesn’t matter. Write as if the internal witness were powerless to stop you.]
***
[Each reader imagines your scenes a little bit differently. This is why the simplest, most direct, least cluttered prose is the easiest prose a reader can follow. The more you try to control what the reader sees in his mind’s eye, the more each reader will deivate from the scene as you wish it to be seen.]

Process IX

stepping stones gazing balls ceramic mushrooms
coppertone mushrooms, rising among black-eyed susans
like live oil slicks, wizard’s caps.
bird houses: made of? to resemble? located where?
awnings
stained glass windows: what design? located where?
sconces
"conestoga" cupboards
red barstools
tennis balls, baskets rain galoshes
"pergola" "arbor" "trellis"
ceramic rooster

[it’s not about what I want. what do the characters want? what do the characters not want?]
down shit crik a snapper’s back a diving submarine

"ensconced"
-Gone, the stepping stones across the yard. Gone, the calm of the road.
-SWAP PAWS WASP (SPAW) Birds wobbled.
-the logic of "as if". "almost as if".
-a drumbeat through the ceiling. Inconsiderate upstairs neighbors. -A great clattering across the floor, of interlocking blocks no longer locked.
-objects that possess: Houses; Desks; Diaries & Journals; Chests; Trunks; Bureaus, Wardrobes
-neaten, neatening
-secrete / secrete

A Checklist

1: What does it smell like?
2: Where has it been?
3: Where is it going?
4: How has it come to be as it is?
5: and Why?
6: Is it at risk of infection?

Vertebrae, Nerve Fibers, Prose

Yesterday I cut a spine out of the newspaper. A backbone, actually. Part of a hip came with it. Presently I shall seal the paper backbone and hip in a casing of transparent packing tape. The backbone and hip will then make an exquisite bookmark: a reminder of the logical foundation of writing. The Spine!
***
Invertebrate writing is out there. Some may know it as "Experimental Writing." Have we ever read a piece of writing that seems to have a bad case of Scoliosis? Or fused vertebrae? The root of "vertebrate," in the Latin, means something like "to turn." INVERT. VERTICAL. VERTIGO. REVERT. PERVERT. SUBVERT. INTROVERT. EXTROVERT. To turn, in one way or another; to make standing; to disorient; to turn back; to turn upon, twist, twist upon itself; to turn under or to turn over; to turn inward, to turn outward; to look inside, to look toward or outward.
***
[Please do not twist my spine]
[Like a mallard’s neck.]
[And do not invert my legs]
[Without first going out]
[Of your way to clarify]
[Whatever it is you want]
[To say - I can’t handle]
[Your perverse prose.]
***
[And do not call.]
[I will not answer.]

They Came in Leopard Print

Meet the Giant Garden Slug.

The last house we inhabited in southern Illinois had a basement. The foundation was cracked. Water stood upright on the floor. Camel crickets dotted the walls. Mold, black spots of it, along with miniature forests of small mushrooms, grew on the walls. Brown recluses scuttled about. And, at night during the summer, Giant Garden Slugs came up the stairs in a great swarm. I fed them cat food. They seemed grateful for the sustenance. These slugs grew to immense proportions, some longer and fatter than any one of my fingers. Seeing this silent and glistening host at the top of the basement stairs filled me with a sense of paternal pride. They were like my subjects! Never once did I salt them. I miss them today. The Giant Garden Slugs are the only other nonhuman inhabitants of that house that I miss.

The Latest Fashion for a Night on the Town:

This understated lacing of the neck bespeaks a gentle coyness of spirit, does it not? It says, I am willing not only to lace up my bootstraps but also my neck, I am willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. I will stretch my neck out to please.

In St. Paul, and other Niceties

We visited the Science Museum in St. Paul yesterday and looked at dinosaur fossils, the Quackery Museum display, the Visible Woman, and so forth.

Who wasn't fascinated with dinosaurs in childhood?

She has excellent bone structure.

This device was purported to aid in curing indigestion or somesuch ailment, among others. It's a chair in a box. I do not understand the purpose of the window. There is also a vibrating chair, and some kind of plug that is inserted rectally and connected by a wire to a blue light bulb. I would almost say "You can't make this stuff up" but someone already has and tried to profit from it at the expense of a gullible public. Thus, some things just don't change.

Reading List: In No Particular Order

A large number of books are waiting for me to read them:

The Collected Stories of Leonard Michaels.
Rock Island Line by David Rhodes.
Celebration by Harry Crews.
The Gospel Singer by Harry Crews (reading now).
Housekeeping by Marilynne Robinson (reading now).
Breaking and Entering by Joy Williams (reading now).
The Accordionist's Son by Bernardo Atxaga.
Flickers by William Trowbridge (reading now).
The Collected Stories of J.F. Powers.
***
Harry Crews writes in such a way that the story moves quickly without losing the reader. I just finished Body. I never once got lost. The novel, many times, made me laugh out loud. Body meets the criteria for what I consider quality writing, fine writing. 1: Moves quickly. 2: Does not lose me. 3: Keeps me interested. 4: Makes me laugh. 5: The end is surprising but, yes, inevitable.

Not many writers are able to do this. Harry Crews and William Maxwell are two. Not even Joy Williams meets all of these criteria (I am enamored of her writing for different reasons I am utterly unable to explain). Have we all read Harry Crews’s novels? I know some of us have read Childhood: A Biography of a Place. But the novels? My god, the novels! A Feast of Snakes! Body!