Author: Anne McClane

Anne McClane is a New Orleans native who spent sixteen years out west before finding her way home to embrace the mysteries of the Mississippi River Delta. She has many years experience in publicity, public relations, and marketing, which has provided a fine primer for writing about the speculative, abnormal, and outrageous.

Eggcorns and Engrams

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I spent a recent down day watching TV and looking stuff up on the Internet. The television viewing consisted of three hours of classic Star Trek, amongst other things. (William Shatner, Leonard Nimoy, 1966-1969—that Star Trek, aka Star Trek: The Original Series.) I’ll get back to Star Trek in a bit; but first, the Internet.

My web searches revolved around the premise of cognitive dissonance. That thing Google defines as “the state of having inconsistent thoughts, beliefs, or attitudes, especially as relating to behavioral decisions and attitude change.”

Speaking for myself, when faced with challenges to my view of things, my first instinct is to retreat. And use that space to gather facts, examine stuff, get to a better understanding of what formed my worldview in the first place. I’m definitely a “Shoot later, ask questions first” kind of person. Resistance? I’ll see that obstacle and raise it with my own powerful brand of diffidence.

Thus, the term “cognitive diffidence” popped up in my head. I thought it was quite clever, and thought it might make a good topic for a post; right here, as a matter of fact. Yet, I quickly discovered I was not the first person to come up with it. The top search result was a post from another WordPresser, put up five years ago. And not too much further down, a post to the “Eggcorn Forum” another four years prior to that.

What, pray tell, is an eggcorn? I had found my rabbit hole.

So, an eggcorn “is an idiosyncratic substitution of a word or phrase for a word or words that sound similar or identical in the speaker’s dialect.” It originated with a linguistics professor back in 2003. And “cognitive diffidence” is considered an eggcorn.

While I’m no linguistics expert, I’m definitely interested in words. And coming from the South, I’m certainly aware of dialects (and how my own can be perceived). I’m facing a brand new bout of cognitive dissonance over the fact that I’ve never heard of eggcorns before now.

NPR even posted a list of top 100 eggcorns last year. Here are a few I hear fairly often:

  • Agreeance
  • Biting my time
  • Buck naked (apparently, it’s supposed to be butt naked. I never knew that.)
  • Expresso
  • Ice tea

I could go on about eggcorns, but I won’t. Now onto a word I heard as I caught the tail end (tale end?) of Star Trek episode “The Ultimate Computer.” That’s the one with the brilliant Dr. Richard Daystrom (played by William Marshall) and his M-5 computer. The M-5 goes all Skynet on some Federation ships, and Captain Kirk has to convince the M-5 that it should face the penalty for taking human lives. The M-5 shuts itself down, effectively committing suicide.

That’s the episode. But the word was “engram.” Dr. Daystrom programmed human engrams—his own—into the M-5 computer. Daystrom was on the verge of a breakdown, thus the M-5 picked up Daystrom’s instability.

Here’s the thing about engrams: while I don’t know much about Scientology, I know that engrams seem to come up a lot in that practice. Enough so that I thought the concept might have originated with L. Ron Hubbard. But the Internet tells me that is not so.

The term engram was coined in 1904 by a German biologist, Richard Semon, who did a bunch of research into the neurological origins of memory. He posited that engrams were a type of “memory trace” imprinted onto the nervous system.

On a sad side note, Richard Semon committed suicide, wrapped in a German flag, shortly after the end of World War I. He was depressed by the death of his wife; and it was also alleged that he was depressed by Germany’s role and defeat in the war.

Before I engender reader ennui over eggcorns and engrams, I’ll come to a conclusion. While I wish I could come up with some brilliant theme to tie them together, I cannot. So I’ll conclude with cognitive dissonance. Because it seems like it might have contributed to the ultimate demise of both the M-5 computer, and Richard Semon. In the latter case, we’re led to believe he couldn’t reconcile his nation’s part in such a horrific global conflict. He couldn’t erase his engrams.

My diffidence might save me, yet.

by Anne McClane

Courageous Self Promotion

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I’ll get straight to it: The second issue of science fiction anthology Just a Minor Malfunction released just before Thanksgiving. It’s available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NA9QRAY

If you don’t do Kindle, you could get an alternative digital file by sending $1 via PayPal to michael.s.alter.author@gmail.com

My short story “Lucky Eight” is in this collection. I am honored that my work has been included in both issues of Just a Minor Malfunction.

Thinking about where I was, writing-wise, just one year ago, this feels pretty significant. This blog was just a few months old, and I tried publishing a serialized version of a short story here. I was still months and months away from publishing The Incident Under the Overpass. I had NO IDEA how my fiction would be received.

Twelve months later, I have some idea. Amongst other lessons, I’ve learned that short fiction goes over better when it’s included in a collection of similarly themed stories. (It’s a revised version of that first-published-on-the-blog story—“Holiday Bob”—that appears in Just a Minor Malfunction #1.) I’m very grateful to Michael Alter (Twitter: @Michael_S_Alter ), the editor and creative force behind this anthology, for recognizing something in my work and including me alongside such accomplished writers.

It’s those other writers that make it easier to do this post. Because my aversion to self-promotion hasn’t waned at all. But in this instance, I’m not only promoting my own endeavor, I’m promoting these great collaborative efforts.

More on that aversion: my first inclination was to title this post Shameless Self Promotion. But that didn’t feel right, because I’m not coming to this exercise devoid of shame. And “shameful” isn’t quite right either. Unconfident, or hesitant, is more apt.

Yet, just a few days ago, I read this quote from the novelist Dani Shapiro:

Courage is more important than confidence.

It’s a paraphrasing of some of her reflections on writing and creative work in general (I think). She also has some great things to say about how writers should “embrace uncertainty, to be sharpened and honed by it.”

I can honestly say this—there was very little confidence (about .001), and great gobs of uncertainty (let’s say 510), when I first published “Holiday Bob” on this blog. Multiply those levels about four times, and there’s some idea of what I was feeling publishing The Incident Under the Overpass. So I have to believe there was a modicum of courage underlying those initial efforts. Otherwise, this post would have an entirely different tone to it (a more pessimistic one, most likely). Or maybe, I might have quit posting altogether.

I think there’s something there, about courage, confidence and self-promotion. Promotion is vital to any work that wants an audience. (Twenty years in marketing have taught me that, at least). Promotion is especially vital for independent authors and publishers. And confidence is hard to come by when you haven’t yet found that audience. So take courage. If you believe in the worth of what you’re doing, it’ll get you over the threshold.

by Anne McClane

The American Crisis

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My 2016 “Mindful Living” calendar tells me today is the International Day for Tolerance. Yep, November 16, 2016. I’m good with that.

I could afford a little tolerance for myself. Because I’ve been kicking same self over my naiveté. For most of this year, I’ve been looking forward to this election just being over. For all the acrimony, discord and vitriol to dissipate. To return to the more temperate level of anxiety most of us modern citizens are accustomed to.

Yeah, so much for that. The discord continues; now instead of it being concentrated between two individuals, it’s steeping to the far corners of our Republic.

The morning after the election, I awoke with a phrase in my head: These are the times that try men’s souls. After a quick search for the source, I’ve developed a new appreciation for the revolutionary Thomas Paine.

My memory of Thomas Paine from school days consists of five words, in no particular order: Common Sense, pamphlets, American Revolution. If I thought a little harder about it, I could probably come up with “he was the guy who wrote stuff that inspired the revolutionaries back in 1776.” I always got stuck on the word “pamphlets,” though. My experience with pamphlets up to that point in my schooling was limited to “Here are some new books from Scholastic.” Or, in more somber moments, “What is Spina Bifida?”

Yet, in my middle age days, here is that phrase: These are the times that try men’s souls. It’s the opening to Paine’s series of articles collected under the title The American Crisis. Apparently, George Washington was so inspired by the first essay, he ordered it read to the troops at Valley Forge.

Here’s an excerpt I found particularly salient:

‘Tis surprising to see how rapidly a panic will sometimes run through a country. All nations and ages have been subject to them. Britain has trembled like an ague at the report of a French fleet of flat-bottomed boats; and in the fourteenth [fifteenth] century the whole English army, after ravaging the kingdom of France, was driven back like men petrified with fear; and this brave exploit was performed by a few broken forces collected and headed by a woman, Joan of Arc….

Yet panics, in some cases, have their uses; they produce as much good as hurt. Their duration is always short; the mind soon grows through them, and acquires a firmer habit than before. But their peculiar advantage is, that they are the touchstones of sincerity and hypocrisy, and bring things and men to light, which might otherwise have lain forever undiscovered. In fact, they have the same effect on secret traitors, which an imaginary apparition would have upon a private murderer. They sift out the hidden thoughts of man, and hold them up in public to the world. Many a disguised Tory has lately shown his head, that shall penitentially solemnize with curses the day on which Howe arrived upon the Delaware.

I had to look up ague (it’s a fever or shivering fit); and I left out something about a Jersey maid, because it seemed to me like Paine was looking for a New Jersey version of Joan of Arc. And I don’t have it in me to delve deeper into that concept.

But I really like what Paine wrote about the mind “acquiring a firmer habit.” And “panics bringing things to light.” Because I do feel like all the warts, all the ague-inducing maladies of our 200+ year-old American Experiment have been laid bare. I hope once we pick ourselves up, and clothe our naked self, the collective mind of our Republic will be a little clearer, a little sharper.

Thomas Paine’s ability to craft words that have inspired through the centuries was enviable. But I don’t envy his life. It seemed he just couldn’t get enough of Revolution, went to France and became deeply involved in their revolution. He wound up getting in trouble (seditious libel, that kind of stuff) and was imprisoned in Paris. James Monroe, who would later become our fifth PotUS, used some connections to get him released. Paine returned to America, where I think he continued to piss people off. The Internet tells me only six people attended his funeral.

My plan in these times is to continue to write. Any maybe one day inspire someone, maybe even more than one someone, to their own positive revolution. Be it personal or otherwise. And, hopefully, have more than six people show up for my funeral.

by Anne McClane

Deo Gratias

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So, I spent this past Saturday evening at a monastery. No, I’m not considering a change in lifestyle. I was there for a fundraiser, and the amount of food and drink available felt decidedly un-monastic.

Saint Joseph Abbey and Seminary College is about forty miles north of New Orleans. It’s been around since 1889, when a group of Benedictine Monks from Saint Meinrad Abbey in Indiana came down to Southern Louisiana to establish a monastery. In addition to the monastic life, the Abbey also houses Seminarians from across the Gulf South as they begin their journey to the priesthood or religious life.

I’ve known the place since I was very small. My father used to take us on picnics there, on the Bogue Falaya River, which runs along the outer perimeter of the Abbey. He eventually bought some land in the woods nearby, that became his personal retreat, The Point.

My Dad attended high school at the Abbey, back when they offered secondary education. He loved it, and he never lost his affinity for the place—I think that’s the reason he bought property nearby. He wanted to write a book about the Abbey and his time there. That’s what he was working on when he died.

The Abbey Cemetery is one of the most beautiful in Southern Louisiana, in my opinion. It’s different from the cemeteries New Orleans is famous for, because it doesn’t have the abundance of above-ground tombs. I’ve known the Cemetery since I was small, too—my paternal grandfather is buried there (he died many years before I was born). My Mom and Dad are also there now. The writer Walker Percy is just a few plots away from them.

There’s something else about the Abbey, which has left a distinct impression on me from a very young age: the murals by Benedictine artist Dom Gregory de Wit. I’ve always known the ones from the Abbey church, but I just got to see the ones in the Monks’ Refectory for the first time.

My Godfather (who was with us at this fundraiser) pointed out an interesting fact: de Wit liked to put some sort of anachronistic element in his paintings. This is from a mural of the Last Supper from the Monks’ Refectory:

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Can you pick out the anachronism? (It’s sorta center frame)

Finally, the fundraiser is called Deo Gratias (thanks be to God). They have it every year, but this year, it took on special meaning. The Abbey was inundated when the Bogue Falaya flooded earlier this year, in March. (Yes, five months before the flooding that devastated the Baton Rouge area. This has been a terrible year for floods, and not just in Louisiana). The damage to the Abbey was worse than what it suffered during Katrina.

The recovery is well under way, but there is still a long way to go. That’s why I was really glad to take part in Deo Gratias (thanks be to my sister for her generosity). There is something truly transcendent about the Abbey—in its peacefulness, its solitude, and its reverence. It has stood for generations, and I need to believe that it will be there for generations to come.

by Anne McClane

Six Days in Las Vegas

They have some nice skies in Las Vegas
They have some nice skies in Las Vegas

I’m thinking this will be a pretty short post. I just returned to New Orleans late Monday night, after spending most of the prior week at the Las Vegas Convention Center. Another trade show. I had lofty thoughts of writing something about impermanence—the fleeting nature of both Las Vegas and trade shows—but I’m too tired for that now.

The trade show began on a Saturday. As I dressed myself in the designated team clothing early Saturday, one thought prevailed: I’m getting too old for this shit. I’m too permanent for this impermanence.

The stark contrast with the prior Saturday didn’t help my state of mind. Just one week before, I had finished my swim before 8am and spent the rest of the day on the beach.

If you’ve ever been to Las Vegas, you will know that six days is a long, long, time to spend there. Especially when you’re spending all your time between the Strip and one of the convention centers. When I lived in Los Angeles, I visited Las Vegas many times, for both work and fun. I learned then that three days was about the max I could handle.

Combined with working through the weekend, it’s fair to say I left there beyond weary. I am only just now beginning to feel my old chipper self resurface. Which is good, because I’m going to need my chipper self. The weeks ahead are filled with a big company event and another trade show.

Whenever things get as busy as they are right now, I always think of the saying “Life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans.” I worry about what I’m neglecting, or what I’m missing, while I’m consumed with making a living. Writing has been pushed out to the margins of my life right now, and that makes me uneasy.

The other persistent thought is this: I know there’s some lesson in this busy-ness. But I’m too harried to perceive what it might be. I think I have to wait for this impermanent busy-ness to pass.

Here’s the good news: with work and stuff, I missed the last presidential debate. From what I hear and read, I’m pretty happy about that. The bad news is: work doesn’t really let up until right after the election.

Wait, maybe that’s good news, too.

by Anne McClane