Orwellian syntax

he title of this post is a little iffy, but I think it works in a couple of ways. First, the content here is by George Orwell, therefore is by definition Orwellian, right? Secondly, his proposed overhaul of the English language (which we'll get to as soon as I'm done justifying and rationalising) is a bit on the totalitarian side, ergo, Orwellian. And uh, Thirdly... thirdly... oh yes, his criticism of the current state of prose essentially compares it to the sort of meaningless catchphrases found in 1984, where words cease to have any relation to their meaning and generally cause the downfall of civilisation as we know it.

That pretty much sums it up, actually, but a little context: I've just read George Orwell's essay on Politics and the English Language. The essay alternates between lambasting several samples of [truly lousy] writing and prescribing a few guidelines to avoid further transgressions. It was written in 1946, so we can only imagine how pained Orwell would be to see the current state of the written word (probably including my own. erk.). I bet he and Hemingway would've gotten along in some ways...

And now, for my own reference and for yours, George Orwell's basic rules for passable writing:

(i) Never use a metaphor, simile or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print.
(ii) Never use a long word where a short one will do.
(iii) If it is possible to cut a word out, always cut it out.
(iv) Never use the passive where you can use the active.
(v) Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an everyday English equivalent.
(vi) Break any of these rules sooner than say anything outright barbarous.

Taken from the essay Politics and the English Language, 1946, page 156 of George Orwell, A Collection of Essays, Harcourt Brace, 1981. 

What's in a name

When I started this blog I intended it to be an information gathering device, posting bunches of links, reviews, instructions and so on. This sort of happened for a few posts (I'm still most proud of my Smithsonian Craft Fair post), but then I meandered off into journaling territory, posting more photos, recipes, poems, thoughts and whatever else happened to cross my path. In the end, the content has actually lived up to the name I chose in the first place: Renascence Girl.

I've gotten a few questions about why I "spelled renaissance wrong," so I'll explain my logic (something I probably should've done initially).

1. "Renaissancegirl" was taken.
2. Spelled "renaissance" the word tends to make people think of the period in history, or silly festivals where people dress up and make largely inaccurate attempts to reenact that period.
3. I used this alternate spelling because it sounds better in my head. Literally, re-nascence, re-birth, a new beginning, or beginning again. This can mean a new start, or starting something over again, redoing something from the past in a new way.
4. It does also imply the idea of the renaissance man, a person who is a jack of many trades, perhaps not at expert at all of them, but a dabbler. Since I can't make my mind about anything much, Renascence girl seemed like an accurately descriptive choice. You, who have nobly waded through all this, therefore get posts about a wide variety of topics, all tied together simply because of moi. Hoo-rah.

Photo of your semi-faithful blogger courtesy of your .. you get it. From Chincoteague Is., Sept. 2010.

Sing It Low and Smooth

A random title, a need to post something to get the blog rolling, and a complete lack of oomph in working on any of my 9 drafted posts brings to you the following:

I have successfully created the world's best smoothie... and I don't know exactly what I put in it. I suspect the ingredients went something like this:

Blender.
Dark, dark cherries, pitted by hand, leaving cherry-blood stains on the counter. (3/4 cup)
Apricots, recently pitted, sliced, frozen because no one ate them in time. (3/4 cup)
Two fragments of melon ice, hunks of cantelope that turned glacée after a thawing and refreezing. (~2 slices)
Orange juice concentrate, spoonful of, another frozen fragment.
The last of the yogurt, perhaps (1/2 cup) the thickest trimmings of cream.
Milk, to fill the blender to the blade; to ensure a smooth result.
Finally, a dash of orange liqueur, a half shot of dark rum, to round the taste and emphasize the tang of the apricots.
Blend.


I didn't sing for a long time, the last few years. Now I'm bringing back fragments (word of the day) of songs half forgotten and wishing I hadn't taken singing for granted when I had a chance to perform. If I wasn't so self-conscious I would like to sing classic jazz tunes again, like Bye Bye Black Bird and That Old Black Magic. I wonder if people don't take music for granted these days, since everyone has an personal music player of some sort.

The reason these things are connected is because I'm vaguely synesthetic. Which is not, apparently, a word. It's to do with seeing colours for tastes, feeling music for colours, and a sort of triangle created between the three. So, this tangy and sweet smoothie, quite pink from the cherries, feels like orange and aquamarine on my tongue, and sounds like xylophone (perhaps Street Song, Key people?) in my head. Bright and sharp with a bubbly underside.

Anyone still with me on this?