Tag Archives: pun
I can’t see!
Good morning!
Take notes
Dear Diary: I couldn’t believe that this type of thing would happen to a guy like me, but when that woman got out of the pool, she wasn’t wearing any…
Oops. Wrong diary.
We are all incredibly talented, witty, sophisticated, creative people. Unfortunately, for most of us, we are incredibly talented, witty, sophisticated, creative people who would have trouble remembering our names if they weren’t on our drivers licenses.
I personally have a brilliant memory. I remember that the most common form of cockroach in the United States and Canada is Periplaneta americana. I recall that the parasitic Paragonimus westermani is a lung fluke. And I am quite certain that Tycho Brahe had history’s first rhinoplasty, however involuntarily on his part.
I also remember that I had three really good ideas for blog posts yesterday…I just can’t remember today what they were.
We never know when the creative spark will light us up, but as often as not, it is likely to happen when we are least prepared to act on it. A mall parking lot. Dinner with the family. Police interrogation. And inevitably, because we’re in the middle of that distraction, we forget the idea.
Carry a note book and pen or pencil at all times. Capture that fleeting moment, no matter how (in)conspicuously. Whether you’re a writer, sculptor, painter, musician, whatever your art, the important thing is to give yourself some form of reminder that you can use for inspiration later.
As I believe I’ve mentioned in earlier posts, my first screenplay grew out of a four-word pun (a song parody) that I wrote in a note book several years earlier.
When the pun occurred to me, I had no idea what to do with it, but I wrote it down any way. Over the next two years, when I would struggle for inspiration, I would flip the pages of my notebooks, and one day, I read the pun and an idea began to ferment. 18 months later, I had the first draft of my first screenplay.
Too often, I fear, we let these moments of inspiration slip away, and while we may kick ourselves momentarily on realizing we’ve lost something, we shrug our shoulders and simply move on. Fine, move on, but don’t keep repeating the mistake.
We all know how hard to come by moments of creative insight can be. Those moments are precious gifts, even if we can’t see the application today. So, the last thing we need to be doing is simply letting them float by and be lost.
Write it down. Save it for later, when you have the time or creative inclination to turn the idea into something special.
In any event, I just had to get this off my chest before I forgot it too.
(Image is the property of Biodiversity Explorer and is used here without permission.)
Pride Week
The last week of June each year, the City of Toronto explodes with colour and excitement as the fever of inclusion takes over the city. It’s another Pride Week.
Gay, straight, budgie…whatever you consider yourself, if you haven’t experienced the pageantry of Toronto Pride Week, you should consider your life cheapened. You should then get your butt to Toronto and party.
Following on the success of Pride Week, however, the other Deadly Sins have petitioned for their own festivals.
Greed Week is slated to run over two weeks and its organizers are actively petitioning for a third.
Wrath Week got pissed at everyone and so plans to do its own thing.
Planning for Envy Week has been difficult as organizers keep asking for the date to be moved because they feel the other Sins got better dates.
Lust Week started slow and gentle but really built up a head of steam before petering out.
Avarice Week demanded the largest budget and still refused to control its expenses.
Sadly, Sloth Week just never really took off.
(Note: Photo is property of Pride Toronto and is used without permission.)
I said that out loud, didn’t I?
Several years ago, when I was first starting out as a professional writer, I received the opportunity to work for a couple of monthly science magazines published by the American Chemical Society. Eager to impress and excited at the thought of seeing my name bylined, I dove into every project with relish…and apparently very little forethought.
A regular ritual at the magazines was for the entire editorial staff to sit down every couple of weeks and hammer out the best headlines for each of the next issue’s articles. Rather than leave the job to the individual writers, my Editor felt this was the best way to get the best ideas. In principle, I agree with him, although you also have to be wary of sliding into group-think, where the lowest common denominator wins…but I digress.
In the first such meeting in which I was invited to participate—second week on the job—we were trying to come up with a title for the health article, which discussed the sexually transmitted infection chlamydia and the fact that many women with the infection didn’t know they had it. After listening to a couple really boring titles, I decided to show how clever and punny I was, and chose to riff off the title of a movie that was popular at the time.
Chlamydia. A quiet killer. It was obvious.
Silence of the Clams!
Silence of the editorial meeting, more like. My Editor looked at mean, turned his head sideways, and said “You’re serious.”
Oh, oh. Something’s gone wrong. Something doesn’t make sense. Why is everyone looking at me like that? Why is…? Oh, shit.
Luckily, everyone in the office thought it was funny, probably more because of the look on my face rather than any inherent amusement. But that’s the point. I kept the job and wrote much better headlines—or at least more acceptable ones—for several more years.
Since that day, I have instituted (if only for myself) what I call “the 12-year-old boy rule”.
Basically, if you want to print anything, you should always say it out loud in front of a 12-year-old boy, and if he even so much as smirks, there is something salacious in your idea and you really need to rethink it.
Still, every once in a while, I wonder if I couldn’t make that title work (other than for porn).
And of course, I am still addicted to puns, much to the chagrin of most people who know me.
When I am gone
When I am gone to join the dead,
I only hope it will be said
That I was quick if but with tongue
And from each word I too much wrung
A meaning lost or malaprop
If by the speaker a hint did drop
About something that was not said
But close enough to turn them red.
With words did play and contradiction
To turn your fact into my fiction,
And from one end of what you spoke
Would I reword to make the joke.
But whether you bethought it funny
Or at most insipid pun, I
Cared not truly if you laughed
Nor bothered if you thought me daft
But smiling delved at my own leisure
For another verbal treasure
But when I’m gone, and games have ended,
Please check with those I have offended,
For as it seems to be my lot,
I was much more than likely shot.
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