Tag Archives: storyline

Consolidate

Consolidate: (v) to combine a number of things) into a single more effective or coherent whole

It would probably be very beneficial if the business world, religious community, entertainment industry and political marketplace learned the difference between consolidate and compromise.

Compromising is when two ideas collide and neither one has the power nor the backing to be heard by itself–so two of these concepts optfunny wisdom on words that begin with a C
 for a third, which neither party is particularly pleased with, but they are convinced is the only way to achieve common ground.

Consolidate, on the other hand, is when one whole thing links up with another whole thing, both remaining intact, and because of the integrity of each, end up complementing one another.

Even though it is popular to insist that marriage is a compromise, unions of that sort, which try to come up with a third way to blend things, usually end up destroying their relationship.

Marriage should be a consolidation. Two whole people with two whole personalities link with one another and become doubly effective.

Two political parties, each with solid ideas, plug into one another. They remain whole, the ideas remain pure, the country benefits.

Two people of spiritual bearing come together, and rather than debating the finer points of religion, they consolidate their efforts over the principles that are most universal and therefore, bless the world.

Two businesses merge, maintaining the individuality of their products, in order to expand their market.

In the entertainment industry, rather than watering down a script until it loses all of its impact and sometimes story line, consolidate great ideas, and sew them together with the magical thread of words.

We are the United States.

We are not the compromised states.

All fifty units bring something to the table, and all fifty have an idea to share which is needed to make this melting pot remain well-mixed.

 

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Bow

Bow: (v) to bend the knee or body or incline the head

“Every knee shall bow.”Dictionary B

When revivalists get all worked up and have a hankerin’ to preach, they love to pontificate on the notion that someday the world will be destroyed and the remaining rebellious humans who have not been slaughtered in a meaningless conflict will view a Jesus Christ arriving in the eastern sky, and at the sight of his august appearance, be driven down to their knees in reverent worship.

Some find it interesting.

Actually, it’s terrifying.

To write a book that begins with a gentle creation and ends with a third of the Earth being mutilated by weapons of mass destruction hardly seems a storyline worthy of a true Creator. If I wrote such a piece, I would deem it misled, angry and hopeless, and wad it up and throw it away.

So on those occasions when I find myself bowing, it is in the direction of an untold story lying within the plotline of the favored evangelical rendition, in which God’s love for the world is so intense that eventually we grow tired of our stupid attempts at meanness and revenge and simply relinquish our egos in the presence of a redeeming love.

 

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Birthplace

Birthplace: (n) the place where a person was born.

My birthplace is Ohio.Dictionary B

I suppose I could end the essay right there.

But perhaps it is my responsibility to make comment, storyline or even complaint about the location.

Having traveled for many years all over the U.S., I will tell you–there is no such thing as a natural Eden or a perpetual hell.

Once a birthplace has been secured for you due to the proximity of your conception, what follows is a needful series of feelings, which make that place tolerable–even blessed.

They tell me that the Son of God was born in a barn. Yet when we want to insult people, we make reference to the fact that they act like they were “born in a barn.”

So is the problem our birthplace?

Are there really regions of the country which are outposts for prejudice, anger, antipathy or intellectualism?

Of course not.

Being born requires a vagina and gravity.

After that, if you’re going to make a human being, you must mingle love, responsibility, work ethic and humor.

If you’ve got those four working, the place of your birth is truly insignificant.

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Adirondack Chair

Words from Dic(tionary)

dictionary with letter A

Adirondack chair: (n.) an outdoor wooden armchair constructed of wide slats. The seat typically slants downward toward the sloping back.

If anyone asks you, Panama City Beach is very sunny in the first two weeks of March, but icy cold if you decide to sit anywhere near the ocean. (Just a little travel tip from the well-seasoned vagabond.)

The reason I can share this is that I rented a cottage near the Gulf one year, to spend a few days writing on my first novel. It sounded so romantic and exciting, with a bit of wild abandon thrown in for good measure.

This was before computers and word processors were portable and could be taken out into a thatched-hut cabana for creative purposes, so I was using an old manual Royal typewriter. The little machine was quite quirky, having a nasty disposition which caused it to occasionally refuse to register the “e” key. I didn’t care. I was a writer–and I was near the beach, transforming my thoughts into storyline.

Three things immediately came to the forefront:

1. Manual typewriters were invented in hell, to the devil’s glee–especially when you’re sitting out in a cabana with the cold wind blowing through, icing your fingertips. Now, I might agree that a certain amount of pain is necessary to stoke the furnace of composition, but I draw the line at frostbite.

2. The second problem was that my cottage was much warmer than my workplace, so my mind kept floating back to the grocery provisions stocked in my refrigerator, the television set sitting idly by, awaiting my return, and the room heater that took away the chill and made me toasty. So to keep from going back to being the non-creative lump considering the virtues of daytime TV, I would frequently step out of my cabana into the sunshine and perch myself to thaw out in one of those Adirondack chairs which peppered the surrounding sand. Thus, my third problem.

3. The first time I sat in the chair I was fine, because I didn’t allow myself to get comfortable. But the second time, the sun was so warm and glowing that I leaned back into the chair, sliding into that slope described in the definition, and I dozed off. When I awoke, I tried to rise to my feet to go back to my writing, and I realized that my posterior region seemed to be a perfect fit into the slat at the bottom of the back of the chair. I had wedged myself there–seemingly, permanently.

I and the chair were one.

At first I laughed, thinking that if I just wiggled or squirmed, I would be able to free myself. But no. In a matter of moments, terror gripped my soul. Try as I may, I was unable to unplug myself from the chair. Should I scream for help, only to be emotionally damaged for the rest of my life if someone actually had to uncork me? Should I stay there, hoping that after a few days, weight loss would trim my backside?

For some reason, it occurred to me to do the twist. Remember that dance? You wiggle your hips back and forth like working a hula hoop. It took about fifteen minutes, but finally my left cheek freed itself, and then, by brute force, I was able to rise to my feet.

I have never sat in one of those chairs again.

I’m sure for normal people, who do not have a rear end that parks quite so well, they are absolutely comfortable and adorable.

For me, they are ... the quicksand of furniture.