Category: Art

  • A Typo in the First Sentence

    There is one continuous issue of mine, which befuddles and frustrates my life as a writer; typos. More specifically, my inability to proofread and catch my typos.

    One of the best Christmas presents I received was a toy typewriter when I was ten years old. I quickly set about writing stories, and trying my hand at creating a newspaper. No matter how hard I tried, I could never produce any copy that didn’t have some sort of mistake in it, which my older brothers loved to point out. Even in the age of early word processors, my teachers would have a field day pointing out my typos, adding snarky advice how if I slowed down and proofread better, than I could have earned a higher grade. I am sure that any of you, who have spent any time reading this blog, have seen my many, and I mean many, typos that proliferate my posts. I do try to correct these mistakes when I do a reread of a post, but normally, I don’t go back and look at my old blogs.

    But I have been trying to get better. Especially when it comes to submitting stories and other written work. I even ask the wife to lend a hand when she has the time, but on the whole, it is a task that I attempt, and maddingly fail at very often.

    Case in point, I just realized a few days ago that I had been sending out a story that had a typo in the first sentence. Right there, six words in. It should have been the word “simply” but I had written simple. No matter how many times I read, and reread this story, my mind kept seeing and saying “simply” even though, clear as day on the page, it said “simple.”

    I don’t know how I could have missed that, over and over again…

    And today was the day that I learned that medieval scribes attributed mistakes in their manuscripts to a demon by the name of Titivillus. They didn’t make a mistake; It was Titivillus!

    (I like this picture of the scribe looking at Titivillus. The scribe doesn’t seem frightened by the demon waiting at his desk, but he seems resigned that the demon is there, and will do what the demon does. I have a feeling that these two are on a first name bases with each other.)

    I do feel better knowing that this really isn’t my fault, my lack of skill when it comes to proofreading, that is. All this time, there was a small supernatural being that was messing with me. A demon that doesn’t commit heinous acts of death and destruction, but causes people mild annoyance and embarrassment.

  • Today’s Sketchbook Drawing

  • ODDS and ENDS: It’s Summer, Career Day, and Old Ladies

    (Remain in the light, please.)

    We are running the air conditioner in the apartment now, which means it’s officially Summer for us. Sure it would be nice to jump into a pool, do some grilling, and drink a beer and watch the Cubs play. I took my shorts out of storage, and also took my ghost white legs out as well. Looking forward to awkward farmer-esk tan lines, and getting a sunburn on the top if my head. It’s not all bad. Summer does mean travel, and fun, and camp, and mini golf, and disc golf, and road trips, and seeing family and friends. I am not a fan of the heat, but I am looking froward to this Summer

    It’s Career Day at my kids school, which means that the students can come to class dressed up as their future careers. My daughter decided that her future career will be as an artist. I asked, what does an artist wear? Her answer; Whatever I want.

    They’re destroying New York City. Yes, little old ladies. They have no respect for anyone, are rude, obnoxious, and give their opinions when no one is asking for it. They’ll hit you with their canes and granny carts, and dare you to do something. But we all know that no one will do anything to a little old lady. Those old ladies are untouchable in this town, and they all know it, and use it against the rest of us. We are being held hostage in our own home. I’m not kidding. In every borough, the old ladies are the worst.

  • Short Story Review: “Consolation” by Andre Alexis

    (The short story “Consolation” by Andre Alexis appeared in the May 20th, 2024 issue of The New Yorker.)

    Illustration by André Derainne

    If you have read any of my reviews, then you know that I am a sucker for a story about death, especially if it’s a story dealing with the death of a parent. “Consolation” by Andre Alexis is such a story, as it deals with the death of both the narrator’s parents, but it is also about how parents’ shame can affect their children, can affect a marriage, and can affect the community they live in.

    The piece begins with the narrator telling how he got in an argument with his elderly mother over driving directions, and the narrator was so hurt but his mother’s anger, that he didn’t speak to her for two years. Only when they reconciled, did the narrator learn that his mother had dementia, and most likely the fight was a precursor of her disease. This leads the narrator to recount the death of his father, which happened a decade earlier, and though we feel that the son loves his father, we also learn that the father was a serial philanderer, thrice divorced, and despised by the narrator’s mother for the infidelity. Then the narrator tells us the story of his father, who was born in poverty in Trinidad, worked his way up and out by becoming a doctor, and then married the woman who would become the narrator’s mother. Together, they started a family, and moved to Canada, to a small all white town, where the father dealt with the indignity of the town’s prejudice, to become a respected member of the community. It is also the place where the father’s infidelities began to be noticed, and affect the family.

    This is a well thought out, and written, short story. The characters are compelling. The family dynamic is honest, complicated, and uncomfortable. It’s paced well, has a very unique climax, and I just didn’t like this story when everything is telling me that I should. I have been thinking about, and thinking about it, and I should like this, but something just feels off to me. And today, it came to me; it’s passion. Which is even more striking as there is a paragraph in this story that is about passion – between the father and another woman, and the son realizing that this moment of discovering this passion lead him to his career as a lawyer. That this is a story about passions, between lovers, between family members, how they can spark trust and betrayals. Yet, I found the narration less than passionate, which I can only say was done on purpose. This passionless narration juxtaposed with these lives driven by different forms of passion which elicit reactions of shame, desire, and anger. I go back to the start of the story and the narrator describing the argument he had with his mother. The way it is described is almost clinical, factual, without any hint of what the narrator was feeling. It is an event that is only described and not felt. I get the decision to write this story in this way, to make the point that is needed for it to have its conclusion. This artistic choice left me feeling divorced from the emotions of these characters, which explains why I couldn’t connect with the story.

    I will fully admit that I am the odd man out here. I can totally understand why people will love this story, and be dumbfounded by my inability to relate to this piece. Yes, it’s me, and it is not Andre Alexis. You should read this story, enjoy it greatly, and then shake your head at me for not getting this story.

  • Today’s Sketchbook Entry

    Today’s sketch is based off a painting by Gabriele Munter.

    Crayon, Pencil, Marker on Paper