The Perfectionist: Obsessive Compulsive Behavior Is An Illness
By Dennis L. Siluk
Jan. 9, 2005
Oh yes, it would be great if we all were without fault, but some people are just big hams under small eggs—insulting everyone who writes. Fixation with explanation, and perfectionism on its back like cancer; obsessive-compulsive obliteration of the mind that is where the path leads; too bad William Faulkner could never remember his regularity in writing [although it didn’t harm him], he’d often forget where he left off two chapters down the road, which is very clear if you are a Faulkner reader [thus producing distortions]. He surely wasn’t known for his consistency in paragraphing either but won the Nobel Prize. But maybe he needed someone help, guess who? the Perfectionist. Matter-of-fact, he had over 50-misspelling in one of his books [first edition], but most writers do; Joyce, with his book: Ulysses, it only took 13-years to correct all the gobbledygook that was wrong with it; and as for fragmented sentences, look at Time Magazine, anyone, if you got the eye you’ll see it. E. R. Burroughs, Mr. Tarzan, if anyone has ever read him, like Robert Howard, both hero writers of mine, wrote, according to the Perfectionist, with no respect for the reader; why, because just read where the tenses are, they both shift from present to third in a clap of an eye, faster than Tarzan can fly. You are lost in the wind of the stories, and most people look over that, or don’t read them; and I could go on with bad grammar on behalf of ERB, but I love the guy so what can I say. Such a person, like the Perfectionist, is, is like a little boy in a big box that keeps zoning himself out of the other boxes, sifting into the smallest [where it is safest], like a desolate island, thus he boxes himself in until he can’t breath. He can’t help it, even though he doesn’t’ care to do it. Such a shame if only such people could take care of this problem, life would be so much better for the rest of humanity; and especially writers.
On another note, no one cares how much you know, until you show how much you care, it’s just a fact. And that goes for respect. If you are looking for it, it is back in the caring category, not up in the ‘I demand it,’ category. Should someone clean their backyard, maybe others will clean theirs, but until then, turn the channel if you don’t like it; or waste your writing skills on gobbledygook.
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Jan. 9, 2005
Oh yes, it would be great if we all were without fault, but some people are just big hams under small eggs—insulting everyone who writes. Fixation with explanation, and perfectionism on its back like cancer; obsessive-compulsive obliteration of the mind that is where the path leads; too bad William Faulkner could never remember his regularity in writing [although it didn’t harm him], he’d often forget where he left off two chapters down the road, which is very clear if you are a Faulkner reader [thus producing distortions]. He surely wasn’t known for his consistency in paragraphing either but won the Nobel Prize. But maybe he needed someone help, guess who? the Perfectionist. Matter-of-fact, he had over 50-misspelling in one of his books [first edition], but most writers do; Joyce, with his book: Ulysses, it only took 13-years to correct all the gobbledygook that was wrong with it; and as for fragmented sentences, look at Time Magazine, anyone, if you got the eye you’ll see it. E. R. Burroughs, Mr. Tarzan, if anyone has ever read him, like Robert Howard, both hero writers of mine, wrote, according to the Perfectionist, with no respect for the reader; why, because just read where the tenses are, they both shift from present to third in a clap of an eye, faster than Tarzan can fly. You are lost in the wind of the stories, and most people look over that, or don’t read them; and I could go on with bad grammar on behalf of ERB, but I love the guy so what can I say. Such a person, like the Perfectionist, is, is like a little boy in a big box that keeps zoning himself out of the other boxes, sifting into the smallest [where it is safest], like a desolate island, thus he boxes himself in until he can’t breath. He can’t help it, even though he doesn’t’ care to do it. Such a shame if only such people could take care of this problem, life would be so much better for the rest of humanity; and especially writers.
On another note, no one cares how much you know, until you show how much you care, it’s just a fact. And that goes for respect. If you are looking for it, it is back in the caring category, not up in the ‘I demand it,’ category. Should someone clean their backyard, maybe others will clean theirs, but until then, turn the channel if you don’t like it; or waste your writing skills on gobbledygook.
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posted by Dennis and Rosa Siluk at 8:45 AM
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