Emoji Expansion Speeds Up Demise of the English Languag

emojis

 

From: Brian Feinblum – http://bookmarketingbuzzblog.blogspot.ca/

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

We already know, thanks to the Internet, email, and social media that our language is becoming bastardized.  Technology has not aided the preservation of the English language, even if it’s greatly increased the amount of communication that transpires over the digital transom.  We now have sunk even lower with the expansion of emojis.

There’s even an official body to oversee the modern-day hieroglyphics, The Unicode Consortium.  They will unveil the 72 new symbols in June.  Six dozen more images will come to express emotions, gestures, sports, foods, animals and other things that we used to apply the task of having real words label or describe.

Will we turn into the Chinese, using hundreds of characters to convey a thought, its meaning dependent on just slight inflections of the voice or a juxtaposition on paper?

I don’t like where this is going.  I get the happy face, sad face imagery.  It’s pretty clear cut what they mean.  The rest is all bullshit.  Why must we continue to make up words that formulate Netspeak?  Why must we remove grammar and proper spelling just because the communication is texted?  Why do we shorten words, reducing some to one letter?  R U following me?  Thnx.

The emojis, if we keep expanding the roster into the hundreds or thousands, could threaten our digital communications to the point we will defeat the purpose of correspondence, which is to actually understand each other.

Emojis make us lazy and continued mass-scale use will leave people with weakened writing skills. Our vocabularies will suffer.  As we fail to communicate in detail, tone and depth – with emojis and not words – we make our world seem smaller, if not simpler.  Emojis lack texture, context, and description. Sure a picture is worth a thousand words, but emojis can’t accurately reflect nor inspire deep thoughts, raw feelings, nor reflect well-developed ideas.

Emojis are nothing more than the graffiti of today’s tech-savvy but relationship-deficient generation.  Do I heart emojiis?  Do they make me smile or frown? They leave me feeling crappy.  Oh, wait there’s an emoji for that.  Here you go – see, I wasted words trying to tell you how I feel when I could’ve just clicked on this singular image.  Maybe I’m the deficient one.  Sorry, no emoji to represent that concept or state of being.  Not yet, anyway.

We’re in the ugly era of OMG, LMAO, and TMI.  If you don’t know what those mean, you are screwed.  But the truth is, we’re all going to pay a heavy price if we keep replacing the English language with abbreviations, images and net slang.

It was announced recently that someone had transcribed the Bible into a version that is filled only with emojis.  Yes, a whole book, one that is challenging enough to live by, let alone understand and interpret, is now in full emoji form. Will this be repeated for other classics?  Instead of “reading Shakespeare” we will piece his works together as if we’re playing Pictionary.

Maybe we’ll save money on the education system and just have all of the classes removed that teach language, vocabulary or reading. We can replace them with a robot-led tutorial on the use of emojis.

 

Have a chair, sir.

Stopping at the local mall is always a treat for we never know what displays we may encounter. This one, a fund raiser for Habitat for Humanity, caught our eye the other day.

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Beautifully hand-painted, the chairs are for sale. We were also able to vote for our favorite after making a donation.

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This chair comes with your Halloween costume built in.

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Back to school

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OVERHEARD

Two young mom’s:

A – The teacher wants them to read 15 min a day.
B – But they’re boys.
A – I know. Sports are more important to them.

Teacher of grade 7:

Student:  Mr. R. your hair isn’t really blond.
Mr. R.:  Nope. It’s very silver white.
Student:  But why? You’re only like 20 something, right???
Mr. R.  Oh, yeah, 20 something. 😂😂😂

Principal of junior high:

We’ve got kids who have come from refugee camps, so things like getting those kids to line up is a challenge because for them what they saw in a line up was, “I’m going to have to beat my neighbor to get to the rice.” It’s trauma inducing. So,  in this school we have to address our processes and how we do things because we can traumatize the kids just by doing stuff that we take for granted.

School secretary:

Student: Mrs. A. I can’t go home.
Mrs. A. Why not?

Student: I can’t unlock my bike.
Mrs. A. Why not?

Student: I swallowed the key.

 

 

http://www.darlenejonesauthor.com

The Good Old Days on the Prairies

snow drifts

 

God, my mom could tell you about prairie life—the loneliness and isolation—no neighbours for miles and miles.

And winds—always winds—blowing  the top soil away, or packing the snow into drifts sometimes as high as the house and so hard the cattle and horses could walk on them without breaking through.

And the poverty; fried potatoes and eggs three times a day all winter because that was all they had, walking nine miles to town with a dime to buy a box of corn flakes and taking the penny change home to her mother.

Wearing hand-me-downs from her aunts—flapper dresses that didn’t fit, the neckline hanging much too low on her gangly teen body. Wearing her brothers’ long johns under her dresses—long johns that bagged and sagged under those flapper dresses (imagine how lovely that looked), her legs rubbed raw from her rubber boots—the only boots she had. Using goose fat to try to cure chapped skin.

And the terrible depression that ensued from it all.

We moved to the city with its modern conveniences when I was ten. Mom was not sorry to leave those “good old days” behind.

Email lists: What do you want from the author?

 

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For most authors marketing their books is tougher than writing them.

Numerous blogs, webinars, and courses provide advice. The general consensus, at the moment, (I say this advisedly, because a month or two from now, the direction might be quite different) is to build an email list of subscribers.

I’ve subscribed to a number of author emails lists. Some email only to announce a new book, which means I hear from them once a year or so. One gentleman emails about his latest release and also writes about the state of publishing and marketing. This author is prolific. His emails come every few months. Yet another sends fascinating tidbits a couple of times a month related to ancient history—you won’t be surprised to learn that his genre is historical fiction. One woman writes weekly with sage advice and tips about writing.  Then there’s the guy who sends out short bits daily.

So, for an author trying to market his or her books, what is the magic “email” answer?

We’re told:

  • Offer them books, extra chapters, character profiles—al for free of course.
  • Email often—once a week at least.
  • Don’t email too often—once a month will do.
  • Keep your emails short.
  • Provide long, informative emails.

The thing is, with all these emails floating about, I don’t know that anyone has stopped to ask subscribers what they really want. So, here’s the question of the day:

Once you’ve decided to sign up to an author’s email list, what do you expect to receive from that author and how often do you want to hear from him or her?

http://www.darlenejonesauthor.com

Could reincarnation be real?

doors

I believe in reincarnation. How else to explain that sense of déjà-vu? How else to explain the dreams of childhood that came each and every night like never ending reruns of some television show? How else to explain the meeting of those dreams in reality years later?

As a child I had recurring dreams, some scary, some reassuring, all puzzling for they were of places beyond my farm yard experience. Rooms with wooden slatted doors: I’d never seen one of those in real life. Vast high roofed buildings with wide open staircases; we surely had none of those on the farm.

When I encountered the doors as an adult, when I climbed that stairway in the new airport as a teen, I knew I had lived before. Nothing else could explain the clarity of the dream, the exact match of that dream image to reality.

 

http://reluctant-messenger.com/reincarnation-proof.htm

http://www.buddhanet.net/e-learning/reincarnation.htm

Victoria, BC – Northwest Deuce Days

They roll off the Coho Ferry from Port Angeles, the Spirit of British Columbia from the mainland — hundreds and hundreds of antique cars from across Canada and the US.

And hundreds and hundreds of people come to admire and drool over these beauties.

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cars 2

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http://www.northwestdeuceday.com/

http://www.darlenejonesauthor.com

The Persistent Author

 

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I wrote a book, something I’d yearned to do since childhood. I naively thought I’d start at page one and proceed in a logical fashion to “The End.” Instead the story came together in fits and starts with a whole lot of organizing, reorganizing, writing and rewriting—much of it done at night when I suffered from insomnia. Scribbles on yellow sticky notes, written in the dark, barely decipherable in the morning, eventually came together as a novel.

In all of my childhood dreaming, I had never considered the roller coaster of emotions that would come with the author role.

Initially, I told no one about my writing, rather embarrassed to presume to have the ability to put myself somewhere among the ranks of my favorite authors. But I couldn’t just leave my baby, er, I mean my novel, sitting on my computer so I joined the provincial writing guild and became a member of a critiquing group.

We were strangers on a mission, all new to the business of being an author, but determined to succeed and intent on helping each other reach our goals. Meeting once a month, nervousness morphed into confidence—not only of our own work, but also of the members’ genuine desire to help, not insult or hurt.

From the critiquing group I progressed to working with a writing partner sending work back and forth, brainstorming ideas, and making corrections. With a completed manuscript it was time to search out agents. I trotted off to the post office and, hands trembling a little, handed my letters over to the clerk.

I waited, impatiently for the post man. Replies did come—eventually. My heart beat faster, my hopes rose. I tore open the envelopes.  Rejection. Rejection. Rejection. Hopes dashed, I glared at my computer, gave it a figurative kick and left it standing alone and lonely on my desk. This period of gloom lasted anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours after the receipt of one of those letters.

Refusing to give up, I started to write a second novel while preparing more queries for the first. Eventually a fat envelop arrived. My heart lept. This had to be good, right? All the others were skinny with little “Dear Author” notes inside. A fat letter had to be a positive response. Not! Rejection and pages of agent advertising urging me to spend a bundle of dollars on various services they just happened to be able to offer. Angry and frustrated, I debated quitting. Any sane person would give up. Not me. I persisted. I kept writing.

It was at the Willamette Writers’ Conference (not the first conference or workshop I’d attended, by any means) that I first heard about self-publishing. My writing partner and I pitched to an agent. She was positive, asked to see our work. Elated, we drove home plotting our future. A couple of weeks later we received identically worded rejections from this agent for two very different genres and writing styles. Angry at first, frustrated beyond belief, then overcome with laughter, our determination solidified. That was it! No more agonizing. Future defined. We’d self-publish.

Persistence paid off. I now have six books published (a four novel science-fiction series, one collection of short bits, and a contemporary novel) available in all formats. Ideas are swirling in my head for book seven. Now to get them to settle down into a logical order so that I can write it.

http://www.darlenejonesauthor.com