Writing

Writing

We've all been there. Someone starts telling a story, and within seconds, your mind starts wandering. Maybe you pull out your phone, suddenly remember an urgent email, or find yourself mentally reorganizing your weekend plans. The storyteller doesn't notice. They keep going, completely unaware that they've lost their audience. After interviewing over 200 people for various articles, I've noticed patterns in how people communicate their experiences. Some captivate you from the first word, while others lose you before they've even gotten to the point.

The term "conspiracy theory" calls to mind a variety of dubious claims and controversies, like rumors about Area 51, claims that the Earth is flat, and the movement known as QAnon. At first blush, these phenomena would seem to have little in common with bogus word origins. But there are a variety of false etymologies that spread virally and refuse to go away, in much the same way that stories about chemtrails, black helicopters, and UFOs refuse to die.

Many lawyers have eagerly adopted the buzzword "BLUF"-bottom line up front-as if invoking the acronym were synonymous with careful thinking. The catch is that almost no one stops to ask the important question: What exactly is meant by "bottom line"? The answer isn't obvious, and it shifts with context. In military writing, the "bottom line" is a concrete decision or action a commander must take-stated at the very start because the commander already knows the mission, the terrain and the stakes.

A crack of thunder, a flash of light, and a sulfurous mist flooded my apartment. Marax, President of Hell, stood before me. Marax entered my summoning circle, eyes burning with unholy fire, and I gave him the stack of homework to flip through while I brushed my teeth. Marax marked up the papers and fleshed out my bullet points into thoughtful feedback before I even got to my molars. Then-three hours of my life, saved!-I banished him back to Hell.

Back in December, when SFWA announced that it was updating its rules for the Nebula Awards. Works written entirely by large language models would not be eligible, while authors who used LLMs "at any point during the writing process" had to disclose that use, allowing award voters to make their own decisions about whether that usage would affect their support.

1. Tongue in cheek 2. Old wives' tales 3. Statute of limitations 4. To be specific 5. Nipped in the bud 6. Get down to brass tacks 7. Deep-seated hatred 8. All intents and purposes 9. Wheelbarrow 10. Champing at the bit 11. Jury-rigged 12. Ulterior motive 13. Bald-faced lie 14. Dog eat dog world 15. Chump change 16. Dime a dozen 17. Duct tape 18. Can't see the forest for the trees 19. Quote unquote 20. Could have 21. Chalk it up 22. Iced tea 23. Take for granted 24. Blessing in disguise 25. Bated breath

cardiganed grandmothers eating roadside picnics beside Morris Minors, pale men sunbathing in shoes and socks on stripy deckchairs, Raleigh Choppers and caged budgerigars and faux leather pouffes I feel a wave of what can't properly be called nostalgia, because the last thing I'd want is to return to that age and those places where I was often profoundly unhappy and from which I'd have been desperate to escape if escape had been a possibility.

I'm one of those authors whose books AI ate for lunch a few years back. At some point I might get a check to pay me for a dozen years' work on the three books it stole, but really, there's no way to compensate for the fallout. AI seems to think no, it can't think, only shuffle what real people thought that a machine can write as well as a person can.

New Pears every day at noon! This is Pears Game 155. The longest words in Game 154 were DISTILLS, LITTLISH, and TITLISTS.

Here's the good news: writing isn't a talent. It's a skill. And skills respond to the same cure as every other skill: reps. Not glamorous reps. Not the kind that gets applause. The kind you do in small rooms, when no one is watching, when you're a little uncomfortable, when you want to quit halfway through because the sentence you just wrote feels like wet cardboard. That's the work.

It makes sense that in our culture of gain and scarcity that [finding a voice] should be a hunt or search or possession, but I don't think that's true," said Vuong, an award-winning poet, novelist, and the featured speaker at the recent annual Eliot Memorial Reading. "I don't think one finds a voice ... I think one develops it throughout one's life ... I'm still discovering mine.

Born in San Francisco as John Griffith Chaney on January 12, 1876, Jack London lived a life even more dramatic than those portrayed in many of his novels. His biological father never acknowledged paternity, shunning his mother while she was still pregnant. She would later marry Civil War veteran John London, who took him in as his stepson and gave him his surname. London grew up in severe financial hardship.

i want back my rocking chairs, solipsist sunsets, & coastal jungle sounds that are tercets from cicadas and pentameter from the hairy legs of cockroaches. i've donated bibles to thrift stores (mashed them in plastic trash bags with an acidic himalayan salt lamp the post-baptism bibles, the ones plucked from street corners from the meaty hands of zealots, the dumbed-down, easy-to-read, parasitic kind): remember more the slick rubber smell of high gloss biology textbook pictures;

Trope, POV, backstory, character arc. In the 30 years since I was a student of that benign, pipe-smoking, elbow-patched man of letters Malcolm Bradbury, the private language of creative writing workshops has taken over the world. What writers used to say to small circles of students in an attempt to help them improve their storytelling technique has become a familiar way, often parodic and self-knowing, of interpreting the grand and not-sogrand narratives of our time.

My dad has always had a southern accent: His words fall out of his mouth the way molasses would sound if it could speak, thick and slow. But his "KFC voice," as my sisters and I call it, is country. It's watered-down on work calls and during debates with his West Coast relatives. But it comes out around fellow cattle farmers and old friends from Kentucky, where he grew up.

Respondents to an annual Michigan college survey of overused and misused words and phrases say " 6-7 " is "cooked" and should come to a massive full-stop heading into the new year.

In the mid-90s, I was working as an admin assistant on the listings magazine of the London Evening Standard, and was about to be fired. OK, I wasn't that good at the job, but I was also done with it. It was on my mind that I needed an actual job, one that you could describe to someone: I'm an X.

It's absolutely vital to be able to communicate effectively and efficiently to large groups of people. I've been lucky enough to get to refine and test my skills in communicating at scale for a few decades now, and the power of talking to communities is the one area where I'd most like to pass on what I've learned, because it's this set of skills that can have the biggest effect on deciding whether good ideas and good work can have their greatest impact.

During the 1959 session of the Louisiana state legislature, Governor Earl Long, the less famous younger brother of Senator Huey Long, "went off his rocker," as the tickled writer A. J. Liebling recounted in this magazine, adding, "The papers reported that he had cursed and hollered at the legislators, saying things that so embarrassed his wife, Miz Blanche, and his relatives that they had packed him off to Texas in a National Guard plane to get his brains repaired in an asylum."

It wouldn't be mid-to-late December without a series of "best of" articles coming out from every outlet that covers culture-and who am I to buck that trend? I get to read dozens of books every year for Jezebel, and I'm here to put all that reading to use by doing one of my favorite things: recommending books. But there are too many books-and I am but one, part-time reader-for me to do a broader "best of" list,