Aside from being an uglier word to say than look at, a synecdoche is a specific type of metonym where something is referred to by either a component of itself or, conversely, a broader category to which it belongs. When I call myself a writer, I’m naming one aspect of the process to say that I’m a storyteller.
I need to find a way to put the slog in irons. [Referring to shackles by their material]
Seeking to escape the slog, we entreated the Church to grant us asylum. [Referring to specific people by the organization they belong to, and that organization by the building it works in]
Anadiplosis is the repetition of a clause or sentence’s final word(s) at the beginning of the clause or sentence that follows it. Often strung together to emphasize a linear progression (think Yoda’s mantra, “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.”). With a little reflexivity, it can also set up chiasmus or antimetabole.
I hate the slog; the slog is awful. Awful things are no good – good things are much better.
He entered the house, and the house had many rooms, but the rooms were full of boxes, the boxes were stuffed with notes, the notes contained a warning, and that warning read “Beware the slog.”
Metonymy is the metaphorical referral to something by the name of something closely related to it. Typically used for poetic symbolism, it’s more often seen in established examples than it is in unique cases. For my fellow Game of Thrones fans, “The Iron Throne” is an often-used metonym for the rulership of Westeros.
The slog can drive a writer to the bottle. [Referring to drinking alcoholic beverages]
Lo slog, das slog, el slog – in any tonguethe slog is still the slog. [Referring to a language]
Money is the universal shortcut. You can get just about anything with it. Sometimes for a lot less than you’d think.
In my line of editing work, I come across a lot of want-ads for ghostwriting. Now, I can look the other way when it comes to surrogate writing in certain scenarios – you’re a not-so-eloquent public figure who needs the notes and rough drafts for your topical book or memoir worked into something fluid? Sure, O.K. But I’m talking about ghostwriting for fiction. Things like: “I need a sci-fi novel written. Preferably something to do with space exploration. Need it to be around 70,000-80,000 words. Must sign NDA and forgo copyright. I’m willing to pay up to $500.” (No joke!) It shouldn’t come as a surprise that there would be a few people out there with that kind of audacity, but I see a dozen of these a day. And what’s even crazier – these listings get a ton of responses!
It’s a little hard to believe. I can’t see the appeal to either side of this arrangement. Does anyone really love the writing process itself so much that they’d be willing to undertake the grueling process of producing a novel for pennies an hour, only to forsake any rights and claims to their own creation upon completion? Is anyone so desperately enamored with the idea of being known as a writer that they would be satisfied with the hollow “achievement” of putting their name on someone else’s work? Apparently the answer is a disturbingly frequent yes on both accounts – it’s a big industry. It baffles me. It really does.
If I’m being entirely honest, I suppose I would consider ghostwriting a novel for someone if I were offered an absurd amount of money to do so (financial freedom to pursue other projects is nothing to take lightly), but these jobs are being offered at too comical a salary to be considered “just work”. I could never quite comprehend the sentiment behind the other side of the table, though. If you want to be a writer then, you know – write! At the very least seek a co-author if you need help with a specific book. I simply can’t see fiction-ghostwriting as something that has any reason to be a thing – particularly not as big of a thing as it is.
But I’m curious to hear others’ thoughts on the matter. Have you ever had experience with ghostwriting (from either side)? Would you ever consider it? Am I taking crazy pills?
This is a fun one. Chiasmus occurs when parallel phrases/clauses are syntactically or semantically inverted. It can be as simple as reversing parts of speech (such as the order of a verb and its adverb), or it can set up statements with poetic symmetry. Probably better explained by showing than telling.
I hate that the slog exists, and what it does I despise.
I wish that the slog would suddenlydisappear and diehorribly.
From a muse you get inspiration; you only get inhibitionfrom the slog.
The slogis stupidlike a rock, but like a boulder it can crush you.
When the twelve-year-old Heroine of the Fairwoods dies, her morose twin sister reluctantly joins her trusty gryphon sidekick on a quest to save the enchanted land in her stead.
The giveaway I did at Goodreads a few months back got some decent traction, so I figured I’d do a quicker, smaller one here just for my fellow ‘bloggers.
Let’s try this: If you’d like a chance to win a free signed copy of this cynical fairytale novella, just reblog this post. I’ll gather up the names from the track-back comments, throw them into a randomizer, and announce a winner in two weeks (July 21, 2013). I don’t anticipate many entrants, so your chances should be pretty good!
[This giveaway is for the physical (print) edition. The eBook, as always, can be acquired for free at your favorite retailer (Kindle | iBooks | Nook | Sony | Kobo) or direct download (ePUB | PDF).]
Metanoia, as a rhetoric device, is following up a statement with another of similar sentiment but contrasting severity. When strengthening the original idea, it can be used as a clarifier or an escalating gradient; when softening it, it can create a mild recanting or a dramatic understatement.
I fear that the slog is going to hinder me – that it’s going to smoother my brain, dull my senses, and rip the joy out of everything I do.
The slog is the absolute worst. It’s just…really not my favorite thing, you know?