Tips for the Academic Writer

Here is a list of short, bullet point tips for you academics out there who wish to impart your obviously extensive knowledge to those people out there in the world.

• Don’t be afraid to reference yourself. This may seem… hmm what’s the word? Oh yeah, arrogant. But remember- you are obviously the world’s foremost expert on whichever subject you are writing on. Hell, if you weren’t, why would you be writing the book you’re now writing?! So feel free to reference yourself at every opportunity, as this will encourage the student to buy this other book in order to learn from you. God bless you. Hell, your students should be fucking bowing to you by now.
• Make up words. Whenever you don’t feel you can express yourself effectively in your native tongue (especially if that native tongue is ‘Ox’ in which case, you’re probably a large bovine mammal and should probably disregard the remainder of this article) feel free to make some up! You’re a philosopher and there’s no word you can think of that incorporates ‘existence’ with ‘apathy’ make something up like ‘apa-existentialism’ or ‘exi-apathy’. You’re well on your way to a Pulitzer every time you show your wordsmith…iness.
• Don’t bother extrapolating on difficult issues. As you are obviously super smart, hence why you’re an academic, you obviously shouldn’t lower your years of extensive knowledge and research to such a base level as that of an ‘undergraduate’. You just stated something bloody simple such as ‘The existence of the telegraph wire during the 19^th century helped provide the Russian West with a nihilistic perma-apa-existentialist quasi world view that permeated the Jakarta parliament’ you shouldn’t waste time explaining how this happened. Or why. You’re not here to do the work for them you know. You’re here to write a damn book, especially one that’ll make your peers slap you on the back as you walk down the corridor. Expect compliments like ‘Heh pulled one on them yet again, eh, you sly dog?!’ You can’t buy this kind of entertainment, you know.
• Foreign words require no translation or explanation. Nothing says ‘I am FUCKING smart’ like Latin. Obviously anyone who reads your book should’ve at least had training in, oh, say, three languages. One of these will obviously be Latin. Duh. So feel free to bandy about phrases like ‘Ab ovo’ or ‘ex hypothesi’ or, my personal favourite (for its absolute ambiguity) ‘Si vos utriusque ut reddo is , vos es tristis. Quod devia.’ Also, German is good to throw around, since you’ll look cultured and well read. Freud was German too! And so was Marx… I think. Oh and Peter Sellers! Wait… well he looks foreign, which probably means he knew German, yeah?
• Make sentences as unwieldy as possible. Quotable sentences are for chumps should be your mantra. Sentences should be littered with thoughts that, for one reason or another, in this world at this present time, in relation to existentialist ontology, as we define it in the Penguin Philosophical Dictionary, assuming this world exists as we know it, which is something Descartes may argue against, as would a Solipsist, are totally unconnected. Remember, commas are your friends. Them and ellipsis… which are often best left for fiction works, especially dialogue… full stops are also for chumps!
• Make your titles as pretentious as possible. This applies especially to art theory and philosophy in particular. Who wants to read something like ‘Impressionism Revealed’? The discerning reader will much rather pick up and read something more high brow, such as ‘Impressionism: Postmodern Interpretations of Recontextualised Works by Sculpters of Oil’! That’s a title you couldn’t just hang your hat on, but you could probably get it really drunk and take it to bed too. That’s how good that is.
• End all chapters with a question that totally discredits the rest of the chapter you have just written. Readers like to be surprised, yeah? So it logically ipso facto follows that you cant get much more surprised than when you give them the news that they just wasted about fifty minutes of their life reading stupid interpretations on hamster mating rituals in rural Guava or whatever the fuck it is you’re interested in. A good example of this could be if you were arguing for the inclusion of the thesis that McArthur was a great general during WWII (World War TWO- not to be confused with I considering II was not only twice the numerals, it also had people like Tom Hanks fighting in it) and you end your chapter with the thought that although McArthur was a military genius, as according to his paper boy in Ohio (or wherever he lived, I can’t write the book for you!) he was flawed on many levels, and his leadership failed on many occasions, so there is a case to be made that he doesn’t deserve such accolades. The groans of utter frustration you’ll hear will be music to your academic ears I’m sure.

Obviously there are more clever tricks to be put forward, but for now, these will suffice. Remember: clear writing is BAD writing. Kind of like clear mud.

Which is just dirt and water, really.

Last Year: Formerly Rosie, An Argument For Anonymous Posts and Doo doo doo doodle-board.
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Oh Just Eat The Damn Thing!!

So I have a table of 12 people for a hypothetical dinner party, from anyone on earth, ever, fictional or no.

Jesus, Nietzsche, Buddha, Heidegger, Descartes, David Hume, Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, Sun Tzu, Chuang Tzu, Lao Tzu, and Satan (of course!).

ME: Okay everybody just settle down.

*sounds of a general clamour*

NIETZSCHE: Jesus poked me!

JESUS: (poking Nietzsche) Who’s dead, again? Eh, Nietzsche, WHO’S dead.

NIETZSCHE: Jeez, just let it go already. What a bitch.

JESUS: Hey! Don’t take my name in vain!

NIETZSCHE: Hippy!

ME: Settle down everybody! Now to start off I’d like to-

HUME: Descartes was blind to himseeeellfff. Nyah nyah.

DESCARTES: I made the method you used to attack me!

HENDRIX: (stoned off his tits, turning to Jim Morrison, aside) Luke, I am your father. (the pair crack up as they eat more suspicious looking brownies)

HUME: (to Descartes) Oooh but I might not exist (waves hands around himself in an airy manner). Are you being pissed off by apparitions Frenchboy?

DESCARTES: That wasn’t the point!

HUME: OOooh it wasn’t the ‘point’ he says.

BUDDHA: (laughing)

DESCARTES: What do you find so funny.

BUDDHA: EVERYTHING.

*general silence bar Buddha’s laughter*

MORRISON: That dude is fuckin’ chilled.

BUDDHA: CHILLED! (more laughing)

JESUS: Wait a second, you exist?

BUDDHA: So it seems. (giggle)

JESUS: But… you’re a myth. And a false idol, I may add.

BUDDHA: He who lives the pure, decent life, goes against the stream.

JESUS: Um…

BUDDHA: He who stands properly firm throughout life is to be reborn in the divine realm.

JESUS: Yeah, but I don’t think-

BUDDHA: Who has gone to the other shore and stands on dry land there, is the one who has realized for himself, in this very life, the liberation and hidden knowledge.

JESUS: SHUT UP Buddha!

BUDDHA: (just laughs some more, and high-fives Chuang Tzu)

MASTER CHUANG: Now THAT’S what I’m talking about!

JESUS: So, Mr. Hume, I seem to remember you denying my existence.

HUME: (embarrassed) Listen, um, what do your friends call you?

JESUS: Jim.

HUME: (surprised) They call the son of man ‘Jim’?

JESUS: It’s a long story. Involved a chair.

HUME: Well, anyway, I was doing a thought experiment when I attacked you.

JESUS: Yeah? How’s THIS for a thought experiment?

*Hume turns into a frog*

ME: HEY! No transmogrification at my dinner table! Where’s your manners Jesus? JESUS!

JESUS: Fine.

*Hume is regenerated, but seems somehow altered*

HUME: GRACE THE GLORY OF THE ALL HIGH GOD.

ME: Uhh, what did you do?

JESUS: Nothing. Note the halo (points up).

MASTER SUN: So, Jesus why didn’t you just kill all the non believers?

JESUS: What?! That’d… that’d be terrible.

MASTER SUN: Eh, it’d get the job done.

JESUS: Expediency wasn’t exactly my message.

MASTER LAO: If nothing is done, then all will be well.

JESUS: What does that even mean?!

MASTER LAO: My words are easy to understand and easy to perform, yet no one under heaven knows them or practices them.

JESUS: Yes, but-

MASTER LAO: Those that know me are few; Those that abuse me are honoured. Therefore the sage wears rough clothing and holds the jewel in his heart.

JESUS: Why don’t you talk properly?

MASTER LAO: …this party blows!

MASTER CHUANG: I hear that! (he high fives Lao Tzu and Buddha)

SATAN: I hear that too! (he stands to get a long-range high five… no-one does it). Oh come on! I invented ‘cool’.

HEIDEGGER: As cultural constructs to control what is ‘to-hand’ through anthropological constructs that actually have no real intrinsic meaning of their own.

SATAN: Yeah? Well eat a dick!

HEIDEGGER: (indignant) Excuse me? How dare you, I’m one of the pre-eminant philosophers of the 20th century!

SATAN: Yeah? Well I’m the fucking first! (pelvic thrust)

HEIDEGGER: What does that prove?

SATAN: I dunno, that I invented free thought?

HEIDEGGER: But if there was free will, that means that the ‘to-handiness’ of the real world would lend itself to a duality of-

SATAN: BORING.

*Heidegger is suddenly impaled by a pitchfork*

ME: (upon feeling the eyes of everyone looking to me for a reaction) Oh what the hell, it’s a party! (shrugs)

JESUS: God was the first philosopher, unbeliever.

SATAN: Blah blah blah, I liked you more before you did that melodramatic piece on earth.

JESUS: Listen you, those things hurt.

SATAN: So does being sent to an eternal hellfire, assface.

JESUS: My dad’s gonna get you.

SATAN: Your dad couldn’t do a thing to me.

JESUS: He’s your dad too you know.

SATAN: Well spotted, Sherlock, want a medal?

NIETZSCHE: (laughs) Oh well played.

JESUS: Who’s dead again? Oh that’s right, you are.

NIETZSCHE: How original. Like I haven’t seen that on like a million college Christian T-Shirts.

JESUS: I don’t come up with the slogans! Don’t blame me.

HUME: PRAISE JESUS! (bows)

DESCARTES: I like him better this way.

HUME: POWER TO HIM THAT RULES THE EARTH.

SATAN: Read your bible, that’s me.

HUME: …POWER TO HIM THAT RULES HEAVEN.

DESCARTES: Nice save, suck-up.

ME: Well I think it’s time for the second course. What would everybody like?

JESUS: Fish.

HUME: Fish.

BUDDHA: Nothing, thanks.

DESCARTES: Whatever can be proven to exist.

ME: Oh fuck, this’ll take a while….

Last Year: Flagellation
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Communication SUCKS… metaphorically

Ahh there’s nothing quite like a new mobile (or ‘cell’ for you people from that land filled with people who assume that the ‘u’ in ‘colour’ is superfluous). The smell. The feel in the hand. The way it seems to just beg to break itself suddenly and spectacularly the instant it’s out of warranty. Or is that last one just observation?

Today I was stupid enough to try to purchase a second hand phone, for use in that magical thing known as ‘everyday’ conversation. Meaning if it rings I can answer it. Amazing concepts, I know, but hey, this is a fast paced, amazing world we live in that may or may not kill you by the time you’re 30. I’m almost 22 now, so I only have eight years worth living in front of me really, so as soon as this post is finished, I’ll do something earth shattering. Like have a nap. Yes, a nap.

So there I was holding my second hand mobile phone, in one or other of my hands. I was lucky enough to be stuck behind a woman on crutches, so my impatience was gratified by a tinge of guilt. A good start, I’m sure you’d agree. Especially considering the study load I’ve given myself has meant that I’m in a constant state of what I call ‘ohshitohshitohshitohshitohshit’.

Rep: Hey mate.

Me: Hey. Yeah, I’m just trying to get my phone unlock-

Rep: C’mere.

Now note that as soon as I pointed out no money would be changing hands, the mood seemed to drop from a cordial ‘ooh customer!’ to a ‘eww customer‘ in the time it took me to utter a sentence? Ah well, I thought, foolishly like so many optimists before me, this shouldn’t take long.

GOD I’m a fucking idiot.

Rep: Here’s the phone, you need to talk to customer service.

Me: Oh okay, does it matter if I’m not the original owner of this phone?

Rep: Who knows? *wanders off*

So I’m sitting there with a phone in my hand in the land called ‘hold’. This land is best typified by its climate of ‘fucking boring’, with intermittent showers of Kenny G. No, seriously, why is Kenny G on every ‘hold’ soundtrack I’ve ever heard since I was FOURTEEN?! Is it because he loves torturing us so with his jazz sax and his lilting melodies? Or maybe he’s just a cunt. You do the math.

Me: *waiting sounds*

Phone: Hello-

Me: Hi!

Phone: -your call is important to us, please hold.

Me: …Fuck YOU.

So I waited a while longer.

And longer.

And longer.

Phone: Hello, welcome to Optus, how may I help you?

Me: Yeah, hi, I’m trying to unlock my Optus phone I’ve had a while.

Phone: Do you have your phone number there?

Me: Well, no, the SIM card for this phone is long lost.

Phone: We need you to have the original sim card.

Me: ….Why?

Phone: We need you to have the original sim card.

Me: Yes, I heard you the first time, maybe you didn’t hear me. Why?

Phone: We need you-

Me: Okay, what do I do if I don’t have that?

Phone: There’s nothing I can do without that.

Me: But this phone is simply locked to the Optus network. Why do I need the sim card that came with the phone, considering it’s like two years old now?

Phone: We can’t unlock it without the original sim card.

Me: Yes, I heard you before, I’m asking why that is.

Phone: Sir, I have explained it to you.

Me: No, you said the same thing several different ways without giving me a reason.

Phone: *click*

Note that I was totally reasonable, albeit a tad abrasive, during the phone call. Also notice that SHE WAS A FUCKING MORON WHO HUNG UP ON ME BECAUSE I ACTUALLY HAVE THE FACULTIES FOR COGNITIVE THOUGHT.

Rep: How’d that go?

Me: Um… not so well.

Rep: I’ll call them again.

Repeat the process of waiting on hold.

Me: Hello?

Phone (new person): Hi, what can I help you with today?

Me: I just need my old Optus phone to be unlocked.

Phone: Uh-huh, are you the original bill payer?

Me: Well, no, it’s a pre-paid phone.

Phone: We need the original bill payer to talk to us, sir.

Me: Um… this phone is over two years old as far as I can gather. It’s well past the six month locking stage. The original bill payer, as far as I know, is at work at this present moment, and I have already bought this off him.

Phone: We need the original bill payer.

Me: But why is what I’m asking. And I may add, as the phone is pre-paid, there were no bills to be paid.

Phone: I can’t help you sir.

Me: So I notice.

Phone: *click*

So I stand up, pack my bag, and walk out.

And go and buy a new phone for 100 dollars. Food money. Textbook money. Hell, even entertainment (I have to party sometimes you know).

Sorry for the lack of funny. But grrrrr.

GRRR.

Last Year: The Caring Jackass, Gabe, the Know-It-All
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Tips for the struggling writer.

If you are reading this, odds are you are a struggling author. I too know the pains of waking up daily and having to use ‘words’ to craft ‘…things’. But worry not! If you can read this, you’re already halfway there! Knowing how to read is half the battle. Or possibly more. I haven’t done the math.

Working with plot.

Remember, your plots should be deep and meaningful, while retaining some degree of suspense. Sure your idea of ‘a murder mystery mixed with kung fu elements in a retirement community in Madagascar’ may be the best thing your friends have ever heard, but lets face it. You’re shit.

Instead you should craft an intelligent narrative. Something that I write should be what you aim for. Here’s some examples of plot you may like to think about and springboard off:

A murder mystery mixed with kung fu elements in a fishing village in Nova Scotia that revolves around a young boy growing up wishing to learn how to fish while fighting off the dreaded Northern Style Peiking Boxers of Kowloon Province as he wins the girl of his dreams by fighting hard against the evil British developers who attempt to buy up the island to turn it into a huge Target.

A novel (a ‘how-to’ if you will) about the lost art of shotgun twirling.

A short story about a team of dinosaur bank robbers lost in TIME (ha! Take that Michael Crichton!)

So, as you can see, a good plot can even be interesting without reading the entire work. That’s the kind of thing most publishers look for- interesting plots, formed out of ‘words’ and placed on some sort of ’sheet’. Remember that they will actually read this, in order to find out whether on not you should be picked up and published. When I say ‘picked up’ I don’t mean it in the carnal sense- unless your work is really really good. But let’s face it- you’re not that good.

Grammar.

A lot of authors would say that grammar and spelling are the most important skill to master in writing fiction. I would say these guys are not good morons duh.

A lack of grammar can spice up even the most well written fictional work. That should be part of the editing process, as you think about spice. So lets see some spicy examples!

“Today I go there with grate speed! Spare me your thought as it will not defer my belief in slightest.”

The plane slowly moved its way off the runway running late and roving into the sky. What a sky it were. Blue. Lots of blue. and a bit of white.

His name was Lexington Fleece and he was angry mad. Angry mad.

Spicy!

Proper use of italics, boldening and other neat tricks.

As you saw in the last example in the last section of the last bit I just wrote which was last, the use of bold type makes things extra sexy. Who can deny that the particular aspects of English writing makes for exciting stuff. Just look at the following example:

“Why did you do that?”

Becomes:

“Why did you do that?!”

It’s brilliant. I defy you to show me a Pulitzer that hasn’t used at least one bold word in it. Also, feel free to use exclamation points much the way the word ‘fuck’ is used at the end of a sentence that started before you stub your toe (something like “yeah I’ve been doin-ARGHFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK“).

Once you have harnessed the act of boldening you can move on to the sexiness of italics and underlining. Italics are best used to emphasise certain words in a sentence that you like. Underlining is like the same thing, but it’s… a line under the word. Don’t ask me why we have italics AND underlining, but I’m sure there’s a good reason. Much like I’m sure there was a good reason for O.J.’s little escapade. I have a lot of faith.

Work hard and you will be FREE!!!!!!!!!!

Dialogue.

Perhaps of the utmost importance to the author of fiction is dialogue. Without dialogue, a novel would be particularly empty of such things as ‘words people say in it‘. It’s a subtle change. Most people wouldn’t even notice the change, but we as authors have a responsibility to maintain a healthy narrative that will not spontaneously combust at any time.

Here’s the trick to dialogue: write the way real people speak. No-one needs to have lengthy discussions on the printed page that don’t flow good. Here’s an example of dialogue from the famous movie Amadeus or Armadeus or Mozart Goes Nuts.

SALIERI: Herr Mozart? I have come to commission work from you.

MOZART: What work?

SALIERI: A Mass for the dead.

MOZART: What dead? Who is dead?

SALIERI: A man who deserved a Requiem Mass and never got one.

MOZART: Who are you?

SALIERI: I am only a messenger. Do you accept? You will be paid well.

Well that may be all well and good in a movie, but in a novel we must be more entertaining and creative with our words. Here’s how it would best be written in a novel:

Sallieri stood in DISGUISE silently as Mozart opened the door.
“Herr Mozart?” he quipped, intelligent and sexy. He had great hair. Hair thats long.
Mozart didn’t reply which was odd, since Mozart talked a lot until now.
“Wanna do me a job, bucko?” Sallieri added, sticking his thumb up and grinning.
“Work? But I am but a poor peasant boy from Austria!” Mozart said scared. He forget that his self came from somewhere that’s not in Austria… I think.
“A mass for dead persons that is performed in a church. Although I think the Tibetans also do them.”
“DEAD?!?!!!!!”
“Yes.”
“ARE YOU MY DEAD FATHER IN DISGUISE COME TO SCARE ME TO AN EARLY GRAVE?!!!!!!!”
“Um…. Here, take some cash.” Jingle jingle jingle.

Brilliance. I’ll be contacting the producers of the film as soon as possible to offer my services.

SOUND FXXXXXXX.

A good sound effect is the best way to bring sharpness to a work. To end this little guide, I will outline a few sorely missed sound fx that you should be encouraged to use in your works.

Blam.
Smack!
Fappo!
Smuck.
KAWHIOP.
Splatch.

Feel free to make up your own, by the way. Those Batman episodes didn’t write themselves you know!
HAPPY WRITING!!!!!

Last Year: The Challenge
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Here’s To Moving On

Today we of the class 2006 go on to bigger and better things. We, who have been cloistered in the classrooms for the past ten odd years, now finally head out into the wide world we’ve worked so hard to experience through new eyes.

Yes, we of the Cyborg Ninja Death Squad School have truly come a long way, from freshman to graduates.

Some of us will go on to be computer game villains, and what villains we’ll be! Look forward to our fleeting footsteps creeping up behind you at speed and when you turn around? We’ll be GONE! That shit never gets old! Some of us will become Super Villains, controlling a universal death laser perhaps. Nay, a SUPER universal death laser! Aimed at Washington? Why not all the capitals of the world? Hell, we have the capabilities to do so. We’ll skip Katmandu though. We gotta have somewhere to raise our Cyborg Ninja Death Squadlets.

Perhaps we’ll just settle down into office jobs, simply doing barrel rolls and fly kicking managers when they lose the memo five damn times in a fucking row. Perhaps we’ll be standing at the water cooler with ‘Phil’ and ‘Matt’, or somesuch, and there’ll only be a thirty odd chance of us planting a well aimed fist in their throat. We Cyborg Ninja Death Squad ninjas are, after all, just humble ninjas with a pedigree. A pedigree that includes such Cyborg Ninja Death Squad alumni as Lord Objectico, master of the Earth (weekends inclusive).

Ah we’ve had a fun time, have we not? Years of study now results in a class I am proud to be valedictorian of such a wild and whacky bunch? Do you guys remember that time that Jake (now dubbed Cyborg Destroyer Ninja #32) totally flipped out and killed someone, and then did a rock guitar solo? That was totally bitching. Snap.

Or when Super Slayer 4000 went down to the library and the librarian said ‘oh your book is late, you owe us two dollars’? I remember it took them a month to clean the blood off the ceiling that time.

But we must remember in the time to come that to be a true Cyborg Ninja Death Squad Ninja, you must be three things. First (and feel free to call these out), and most importantly, you must?

Be a cyborg. Yes! If we weren’t cyborgs, we’d simply be Ninja Death Squads. That’d just be lame.

Be a true ninja. If we didn’t totally flip out and kill people, what would we be? Seriously, we’d just be lame asses who wear totally cool clothing and do bitchin’ guitar solos. That, my friends, is real ultimate power.

Be totally into killing people. We’re not into half measures here at the Cyborg Ninja Death School. If we find out that any member isn’t totally into killing people, we… um… kill them. I’ve put forward the argument that we should be more imaginative in our punishment, but we’re not Catholics, we’re ninjas!

So remember class of 2006, head out with your heads held high, your ’swords’ sharp (eh? EH?!) and kill with impunity! Huzzah!

Oh and have your textbooks in by Wednesday, the new librarian is a bitch that way.

Last Year: Dang it, Alethea!, Faith in Humanity and Penultimate Words
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