I imagine they thought they were being helpful Those programmers Putting in the new features that Suggest ideas from which to write Because writer’s block is a thing And it does beset all of us who Fix words in order Sometimes
So I’m sentimental about some things… Photo by Josh Willink on Pexels.com
But And there is always a but And there is almost always a butt And sometimes it is what voices the Things you hear I wonder who they think Those programmers Their target audience is Who they think will use this platform And to what end Who will be different from them Because we all know We All Know That the only worthwhile knowledges are How to code And How to get their money And Anyone who does anything else Really can’t be that smart
All this is to say Having a spur is useful But sometimes You’re not riding a horse
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As this post emerges into the world, it is the moment of the winter solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, or close enough as matters to very few. Concomitantly, today is the shortest daylight of the year here; it’s uphill for a while, until the summer solstice comes, and then the downhill slide resumes. It is Sisyphean, really, although I am not aware of the myth-makers connecting things in such a way. Perhaps they did. Perhaps I do because I have far more time to think about such things–about things, generally–than is good for me to have.
Living when I do and where I do, the seasonal cycle matters less to me than might be thought. Central Texas does not have the “typical” progression. Our plants put on their prettiest in the spring rather than in the fall; the colors that come out for autumn are of football teams and marching bands, and brilliant though they may be, they are as nothing against the wildflower fields that stretch to the sky. No, for the most part, the colors of the fall now gone are brown from where the summer drought remains and green from the touches of rain that have fallen. And the colors of the winter now begun are not as often white as, well, brown and green. We freeze sometimes–the Hill Country, I am told, is in for a sharp snap of it this week, Jack cracking a bullwhip to announce his coming and assert his dominion where Aestas more commonly holds sway–and sometimes see the snow, but more often, it is a chilly rain that marks out winter weather than a soft snowfall.
Perhaps that is why so many decry “snowflakes” here, that they have such limited experience of them as they do. But as someone who has had more of snow than many in the Hill Country, I think I like it less. Shoveling it tends to remove the romance.
Still, the night will roll back, little by little, now, and the light increase its hold. I am sure there is some symbolic statement I could make about it, but I am also sure it would be badly clichéd. I get to deal with that kind of thing enough without having to add to it, and there is still more than enough work for me to do, whatever the season, however the weather may be.
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I still have samples of assessment work I developed for a tutorial client entering public schooling from private some years back, following those I noted here, here, and here. Even though many students are on their winter break and thoughts of school may be far from their minds, such concerns still loom. After all, the spring is when the major standardized tests are administered in my part of the world, and there are college entrance exams at intervals throughout the year.
Oh, it is not so nice as this…
The example below comes out to 85 words at a ninth-grade reading level. The usual adaptations to suit the medium apply.
Read the following passage and use the information in it to identify the most accurate answer to each of the questions below.
1Illegitimate origin factors heavily into Arthurian legend. 2There are a lot of characters whose parents are not married when they are conceived. 3Arthur himself is of illegitimate origin; his parents, Uther and Igrayne, marry after Igrayne’s first husband is killed in war against Uther. 4Arthur begets two illegitimate children, Mordred and Borre. 5The latter is of little consequence, but the former ends up overthrowing Camelot. 6And the knight who does best of all, Galahad, is the bastard son produced when Elaine drugs and violates Lancelot.
1. In sentence 1, the word “illegitimate” is what part of speech? A. Adjective. B. Adverb. C. Noun. D. Pronoun.
2. In sentence 1, the word “illegitimate” means which of the following? A. Understudied. B. Uninspired. C. Unsuccessful. D. None of the above.
3. Sentence 2 provides what kind of context clue for the meaning of “illegitimate?” A. Antonym. B. Example. C. Synonym. D. None of the above.
4. The relationship of sentence 2 to sentence 1 is one of which of the following? A. Addition. B. Comparison / contrast. C. Illustration / exemplification. D. None of the above.
5. The relationship of sentence 3 to sentence 2 is one of which of the following? A. Addition. B. Comparison / contrast. C. Illustration / exemplification. D. None of the above.
6. The relationship of sentence 4 to sentence 3 is one of which of the following? A. Addition. B. Comparison / contrast. C. Illustration / exemplification. D. None of the above.
7. The relationship of sentence 5 to sentence 4 is one of which of the following? A. Addition. B. Comparison / contrast. C. Illustration / exemplification. D. None of the above.
8. The relationship of sentence 6 to sentence 5 is one of which of the following? A. Addition. B. Comparison / contrast. C. Illustration / exemplification. D. None of the above.
9. The main idea of the passage appears in which sentence? A. 2. B. 4. C. 6. D. None of these.
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Tell us one thing you hope people never say about you They said As if there are not many things As if they have not already been said Many times by Many mouths in Many places And my own mouth is among them
I’m surprised it’s not a cat… Photo by Noelle Otto on Pexels.com
No ioperamide stems that tide That flows regardless of the moon From me And surges out Drowning rather than uplifting Swelling too often ungently
But if one piece of flotsam Buoys up unwanted It does not do to call it out It is rude to point out the flaws of others Where yet others can see No, you tell your friend in private that They’ve got something in their teeth Just there– It’s not like a badge or anything
No I don’t think I’ll say anything to answer Besides It’s not like there’s any lack of ideas
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The old adage holds One bad apple Spoils the bunch And we are told again and again That we ought to listen to the wisdom of those who came before Who know more Who didn’t grow up with social media And so they know the score
How millennial! Photo by Lisa Fotios on Pexels.com
But when we apply the lessons We continue to be held to blame Told that they’re not all the same That it’s a falsely made lack of fame And if they had done what they were told to start with There would never have been a problem
What was that man doing So Very Wrong That the cop Should Have carried around A shit sandwich– Diarrhea on rye, maybe Or mashed corn-studded turds on whole wheat Because getting roughage matters And fiber is important to a healthy diet– And fed it to him when His trembling outstretched hands pleaded for mercy?
It had to be something Right? Because he had to know what he was doing He had to know there was something done that deserved Punishment Without charge or trial
But it was just a joke Right? It was just A boy being a boy Or some such thing No harm done Not really It’s not like he did it to Anyone who matters
Clearly. Because he’s still wearing a badge Even if it has Something smeared on it Just a little, there
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Offer up praise to the llama! Punctuate holiday drama By hanging up wreaths And crawling beneath And playing the viol da gamba!
I should have used this as a writing prompt when I had students… Photo by Magnus Martinsen on Pexels.com
Strike up a llama-themed tune And dance in the light of the moon Hoping thereby To bid it pass by That beast that else besets us soon
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As I was talking with coworkers, I was reminded of today’s observance, something that had otherwise slipped my mind amid the other things I do day to day to day. Normally, I’m reasonably good at marking such events, having grown up in the family and part of the world that I did, so to have had the Day that Shall Live in Infamy escape me in such a way is…surprising and unsettling. For a moment, I wondered–had to wonder–if I was losing something else, the progress of my years slowing recall. (The old joke applies, I think, about not remembering what goes away as you get older.)
In the event, though, as I talked with my coworkers more, we hit on the idea that it is simply a matter of the passage of time. The attack on Pearl Harbor remains in living memory, yes, but less firmly so than before; eighty-one years is longer than many live, and many of those who were alive then cannot remember it–either because the memory is lost or because they were so young that the memory never formed. For me, it is a thing of my grandparents’ days–and I’ve only one of them remaining. For my daughter, it is even more remote, and I know that many of my contemporaries have children old enough to have children of their own, for whom the event is yet more distant.
Admittedly, I remember and mark many things that are older yet than the Second World War. I do not seek to excuse the lapse in attention. Thus I write this, recalling the perfidy perpetrated then and what it has led to, for good and for ill. And I note to others that they might well do the same.
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Unbidden The prompt presented itself Challenging me with a question I have faced many times before At my own behest
They say write what you know; note the blank page… Photo by Janson K. on Pexels.com
There are many answers to the question that was posed I know it I have offered them And not one of them seems to satisfy But that is no surprise
The prompt itself demands A lack of peace Bespeaks it A call to which many respond Even before they hear it
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Read the previous entry in the serieshere. Read the next entry in the serieshere.
With more tidings passing between bird-keepers, these unpleasant, “Horns” begins with Alise rousing to the sounds of active dragons. The sounds of the approaching Tarman soon follow, and the reuniting groups compare notes about who has been found–and who has not. Greft again attempts to assert some measure of control, finding himself annoyed not to be lauded, and again nettled when Alise points out Thymara’s efforts to provide for the keepers.
Leftrin, hearing Carson’s signal, exults as he rehearses findings to that point. He urges the Tarman to caution and the barge-crew to action as the ship reaches the keepers and their dragons. Greft, when he comes aboard, attempts to forestall further searching, only to be reminded that Leftrin, not Greft, is the captain of the Tarman. After Greft’s dismissal, Leftrin hastens to welcome Alise aboard, but their reunion is shadowed by concern for Sedric, Leftrin’s own guilt, and the crew’s questions about provisions.
Alise retires to her cabin and considers the likely loss of Sedric, as well as her complicity with the same. Her guilt at feeling for Leftrin emerges, as well, and she assesses herself. After, she determines to set Sedric’s possessions in order, finding among them a locket that turns out to be from Hest. Her mind shies away from possibilities.
The keepers and dragons confer, somewhat tensely, over the disposition of the fallen. The dragons assert their right to consume the corpses of their keepers, with the keepers refusing. Leftrin notes that any bodies would have to be given to the river, and the keepers agree to be given to their dragons–save Thymara, who argues against Sintara’s claim. She watches and considers her place and ill fit as rites are conducted, and she and Tats confer about relative standings and politics among the keepers. Tats echoes some of Greft’s rhetoric, occasioning upset no less than his reports of more of Greft’s decision-making. Their continued conversation is interrupted by the return of another dragon and keeper, and Thymara finds herself considering Tats closely. She kisses him suddenly, leaving him uncertain of her intent.
My comments about Greft that accompany my summary of the previous chapter…do not go far enough in the event. He’s not some image of the putative evolutionary biologist or incel, but of a cult leader of the sort depicted in Netflix series and true-crime documentaries. The manipulation of events to ensure the “protection” of a younger woman among the keepers is…chilling. Despite the usual publication disclaimer–“Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental”–it is all too easy to find real-life parallels, and ones recent to the context of composition for the novel, as well as close enough to where Hobb lives (near Seattle/Tacoma, per her website over the years). Too, Hobb is open about working from real-life inspiration, not on a person-per-character basis, but certainly with an eye toward how things are in her readers’ world (here it is). So there are enough parallels to point out.
There are more than enough.
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Elliott RWI 