Theory

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When we have a theory about something, it’s essentially an understanding of how we believe something is supposed to work, or what its true nature is. It’s like an organized system with a network of branches that connect to different parts that permeate from larger categories to smaller ones in a harmonic way. These categories help to explain, what seem to be, random and unorganized events, using a methodical and holistic approach. In other words, a theory is supposed to be a predicator of varying events/outcomes using an algorithm like a flow chart, or a system of unbroken links like a mind map. When those predictions are verified repeatedly across different situations and or environments, the theory itself becomes more grounded, more real, until it becomes so undistinguishable from reality that it evolves into a formula or a scientific law, rather than just a strong conviction we have.

But a theory has to start from somewhere. It starts off as a question, which evolves into a hypothesis, because as we encounter events that are, on the surface, random and causeless, we try to rationalize and answer the “why” to know and understand what’s happening around us and in the world. But a theory can collapse if it doesn’t align with the predicted outcomes–the world–or with what it’s trying to explain. When that happens, we have to go back to the drawing board and see what didn’t work, why it didn’t stand up to the truth.

In the realm of science, the checks and balances of verifying theories is clearcut, because there are practical consequences if the laws of nature aren’t obeyed, or if the wrong processes or materials are used in the construction of structures or products, such as cars, buildings, airplanes, roads, bridges, etc. A car won’t operate, a building won’t stand, an airplane won’t take off, a road will crack or cave in, and bridges won’t stay up for long if the laws of nature are contradicted or if the materials or if the construction process is faulty.

But in our own lives, affirming or denying a theory is a bit more tricky. Although a theory will play out it in our choices and in their results, it’s up to us as to analyze it, modify it, and ultimately, to decide whether to keep or discard said theory. Furthermore, a theory could be interpreted differently from person to person based on how that theory interacts with the other theories they already hold, in addition to its compatibility with them.

Unlike the realm of science, the social realm is much more dynamic, since it involves people and the complex interaction of their choices with others given everyones’ experiences and values. We can read books and theorize about human psychology and human behavior to approximate what people’s choices will be. The same could be said regarding theories about how to go about achieving success or to be happy. But even if two or more people hold the same theory, it can play out differently for them, since the world is invariably complex, and often times, mysterious. That’s why we ponder after a life changing event, if it was chance, coincidence, luck, destiny, or the divine that caused it. And given that gray area of the unknown, a theory is more like a framework, a guide, since life isn’t just a theory, but an experience that has to be lived in order for us to grow from it.

Half Measure

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There’ll be times when I’ll come up with an idea and implement it briefly, only to realize afterward that it was only a half measure attempt. I’ll lose interest within a week (maybe even a day), although the idea itself was much more exciting on the surface.

It’ll be one of those “it sounds like a great idea” goal, when in fact, the effort and time required to accomplish that goal isn’t backed by the motive and willpower to do so.

In life, we change our minds frequently, and have to experiment with different ways or systems of going about things. Even our goals can be half measures if we’re not fully invested in them. We like the ends, of what they can bring us, but the work to get there isn’t something that interests us, at least, for the long haul.

But when we find goals that are we committed to and aren’t just half measures, then it won’t even seem like we’re just checking off boxes to accomplish them, but we’ll go above and beyond to get them done, and even, accomplish more than what we originally thought was possible.

Incentive

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There’s a clear incentive when it comes to things that are practical or job-related. For example, earning an income, or having tools to build something, or software to complete a task. But when it comes to the arts, the incentive comes from within. It comes from an internal drive, an incentive that is motivated by the thoughts and ideas themselves.

The characters in the story aren’t aware out of the outside world, how much profit is made from their story, since they’re contained within the prism of the story. They exist within the realm of an imaginative world, representing notions about humanity that transcend monetary value, since its value lies in the impact of the ideas within the story, whether the reader bought the novel from a bookstore or checked it out from the library. And with regard to paintings, sculptures, and music, they’re made not with respect to their utility, but with regard to the emotions that the artist conveys or evokes through them.

Therefore, the incentive for works of art is deeper than whatever monetary value that is assigned to them, or however many copies are sold. It’s not like a piece of furniture, or a tool that has a specific purpose for fixing or building something. The value comes from what the artist or writer has to say, what they want to convey. The incentive is something that’s communicated–the voice of the artist, the author.

Posted in Art

Grammar

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Grammar is something I’m always learning, continuing to increase my knowledge of. When I write the first draft of a story, I won’t even think about grammatical errors, punctuation, spelling, etc. The first draft is just getting the ideas down on paper (or the computer) in its unencumbered form. But when I start to edit, I’ll start to question if the way I wrote something is correct. Even if it might read correct, it won’t sound correct when I read it aloud.

I’ll begin to look up the definition of a word to see how it’s supposed to be used. One word I always look up is “passed” and “past.” Another is “further” and “farther.” I know “passed” has to do with distance, and “past” has to do with time, but I’ve seen them used interchangeably, which only makes it more confounding (not to mention the way it’s used as an adjective, adverb, and noun).

And with the rules regarding commas and em dashes, I’ve seen them use interchangeably as well. And with semi colons and periods, some writers prefer one or the other, or both, and their usage is almost dependent on style rather than form.

It seems that some of the rules of grammar depend very much on the context of the writing, whereas others are set and stone, even though some writers could abandon them for the sake of presenting a certain style or for dramatic effect. For example, if a writer was writing in the first person, or was writing in colloquy, or in a certain dialect, etc.

The rules of grammar are not as rigid as the rules governing mathematics, since grammar is more like an art, dependent on the reader knowing the rules just as well as the writer, whereas mathematics is like a science where one mistake produces an error in which the entire sequence collapses. But there are grammatical rules nonetheless, such as the word “I,” as a noun, must be capitalized, and the first letter of a sentence, and the first letter of a name. But whereas mathematics is about precision and consistency, allowing freedom only in the problem-solving approach, the rules of grammar are more like guidelines rather than axioms or unyielding laws, since their laxity depends on what a piece of writing is about.

Lessons

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Going through the lessons of life is like going through the seasons. They change us from within, and we evolve and grow from the experiences. We come out a little different after each one, seeing the world through a modified lens.

After I’ve gone through a trial or a tough experience, I tend to look back on it. Although each person will view their experiences differently, my overall outlook is: what can I take away from them?

Each of us go through a variety of challenging experiences, and sometimes they can seem almost random, coincidental or like a chain of events that have accumulated to its logical conclusion. But after they occur, I normally reflect on what happened to see how I could’ve reacted or proceeded differently. Often times, I will find a better way that I could have, because, as the saying goes, hindsight is 20/20.

But more than that, I realize that my knowledge and experience of the world is limited, restricted to a particular time and place in the universe. With each new experience, I’m improving in some way, whether that be in terms of knowledge, character, or in understanding how things are, how things work, revealing how little I knew to begin with.

New Situations

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We all handle new situations differently. For me, I have to process it before I respond or react in a way that I think is the most optimal. For some, they react as if they know what to do instantly, as if it’s intuitive or second nature to them.

It depends on the situation of course. It could be one where we have to give a talk in front of a large group, or where we have to be in charge and be the leader in a new and unfamiliar situation. Or it could be going to a social gathering where we don’t know anyone. Depending on our experience and personality determines whether we will start striking conversations with people at random or feel awkward and want to leave.

But the more new situations we come across in our lifetime, and the more we experiences we have, we will start to build a toolkit of dos and don’ts and hows for various situations, which is our go-to when new situations arises.

Half-Finished

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Sometimes I’ll read a book halfway through before moving on to the next. For some reason, after the halfway point, it’s difficult for me to progress and finish a story. Whereas in the first half of the book, I could easily read 20 pages or more in a single sitting, after the halfway point, I might read 5 pages at a time.

Then I’ll start another book, and the process will begin all over again. I’m not sure what it is about the halfway point where I feel like I’ve reached the end when I’m only halfway through. Part of it is that my focus (and interest) will begin to wane, and given how many other books I want to read, my focus will drift to the others.

Some of the stories I’ve finished have felt like a marathon. It’s like a push (or race) to the finish line, where I know I’m almost at the end, but I have to mentally tell myself to keep going. It’s one of those things where I just have to tell myself “just a few more pages,” and say it on repeat. If I do it enough times, I’ll make it to the end.

Focus

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There are times when it’s easy to focus, and other times where I feel like my brain is scattered and all over the place. When I’m focused, it’s like my mind is on a mission, and nothing can distract me no matter how noisy everything else is. But when I’m unfocused, it’s as if every little thing grabs my attention, where my focus can easily shift at a moment’s notice.

One thing I do to recalibrate my focus is to create a list of goals. I then prioritize which I will accomplish first, and the steps I will need to take. It’s as if the motor of mind is waiting for some direction, and the only way to put it into gear is to have an action plan in place.

If not, I will be lost, aimlessly drifting from one thing to the next. But sometimes my mind will naturally recalibrate itself when an unexpected situation arises. For example, if something suddenly needs to be repaired or fixed, or if I’m inspired to write a story or novel.

Discontinuity

The habits that are continuous happen out of necessity: eating, sleeping, working, waking up, etc. But the ones we’d like to be continuous, such as our pursuits, can often be discontinuous, despite our best efforts to keep them consistent. For me, that can be writing or reading daily, and for someone else, it can be painting, drawing, composing music, etc.

That discontinuity can happen for a number of reasons: losing interest, a change in schedule, pursuing/learning a new skill, etc. It can also be the result of burn out, exhaustion, or simply needing rest. But without that discontinuity, a pursuit can end up being dull and humdrum rather than one that stems from excitement or curiosity.

It’s why we can look forward to the weekend after a long week of work, or want to take a vacation after months of work, or learn/try something new. Continuity is good for honing talents and skills, but without discontinuity, our pursuit can end up being unexciting and mechanical in a way in which it’s no longer creative or exciting. It’s like taking a break from a novel/story after writing it for weeks or months. Once a writer returns to it, they see it again anew.

One More Story

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After finishing a novel, I feel mentally exhausted, creatively fatigued. It’s like there’s nothing left in my mind to conjure up, and my will seems all but spent. I wonder if I can write one more story, if I have enough energy to create another world or another plot. And because of the fatigue, I tell myself that I’m content with the last story I wrote, that there’s no need to put one more story out there . . .

But sooner or later, the yearn to write takes on a life of its own. It’s as if a quiet and unexpected idea, story, curiosity–whatever it is–needed to exist for its own sake. It’s like it existed in another realm independent of us, and out of nowhere, it zapped us, calling on us to write, to bring it into existence.

One more story can be like wishful thinking in a way, because it’s harder than it sounds. If we paused to reflect on the grueling work it would entail, especially the countless hours of planning and writing and rewrites and edits, we might reconsider. But to create or pursue anything worthwhile, whether it be a book, a painting, a song, etc., requires a leap of faith so to speak, a nosedive into the unknown.