Secret Writing Techniques #1

ASYNDETON

Writers have developed innumerable techniques to nail their reader’s eyes to the page, and one of those secret weapons is called asyndeton. However, there is nothing new under the sun. We have simply learned how to describe what we do and have tagged it with a name. These techniques have been around since Adam and Eve told stories to Cain and Abel.

Asyndeton means disjointed and unconnected. In literature, it is the art of stringing a list of clauses together without the use of conjunctions. Doesn’t sound that exciting, does it? But wait until you see the examples!

From Double Indemnity: Why, they’ve got ten volumes on suicide alone. Suicide by race, by color, by occupation, by sex, by seasons of the year, by time of day. Suicide, how committed: by poisons, by firearms, by drowning, by leaps. Suicide by poison, subdivided by types of poison, such as corrosive, irritant, systemic, gaseous, narcotic, alkaloid, protein, and so forth.

Writers aren’t the only ones who use this effectively. Orators and statesmen use it, too.

Julius Caesar said, “I came, I saw, I conquered.”

Sir Winston Churchill used it in 1940 in the address known as “We shall fight on the beaches:”

We shall go on to the end, we shall fight in France, we shall fight on the seas and oceans, we shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, we shall defend our Island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

And John F. Kennedy used it: “…that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe to assure the survival and the success of liberty.”

Now it’s your turn. For hard core impact with a dramatic effect, try asyndeton!

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In Memory of my Dear Mother

It looks like 2016 came in with a roar. My son survived the fiery racing accident in February and still has 4-6 months of rehab, but my mother went to be with the Lord March 24. She was almost 98 years old, so I’m thankful I had her that long, but that doesn’t make the parting any easier.

In a few more days, I’ll get back to the business of writing and blogging, but for now I’d like to post these poems to honor Mom. I wrote them years ago but never showed them to her.

Quiet Gray by Deborah Owen

She got her way with temper fits

And maybe stretched the truth a bit

Made Dad so mad he could have spit

But made me laugh… she had such grit

– My Mom

 

Born without grace and no fanfare

She’d quiet us with just one stare

To say a word, we would not dare

Tender Paradox led in prayer

– My Mom

 

She’s older now, a quiet gray

We’ll have a docile Mother’s Day

Seems strange to have her now this way

To keep her long, that’s what I pray

– My Mom

——————————–

 

 Hour Glass by Deborah Owen

She walks with halt and shuffling feet

Her high-step days are gone

A face of roadmap lines runs deep

Unpainted lips are drawn

 

But on each Mother’s Day I see

the mom who played with me

We baked mud pies and choc’late cakes

and topped them off with tea

 

Of childhood days I often think

to fill my heart with cheer

Of all the moms I could have had

She’s mine! My mother, dear.

Dorothy 97th B-day 6

 

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