Grammar Series: Parallelism in Writing

 

We are launching a new series to encourage and inspire writers of all kinds.   One of the best techniques in writing is parallelism. It makes us remember certain points in the manuscript.  It's sort of like getting across a meaning or emphasis a sentence.  It adds balance to smooth out the sentence and flow.  

Parallelism is the use of components in a sentence that are grammatically the same; or similar in their construction, sound, meaning or meter. Parallelism examples are found in literary works as well as in ordinary conversations.
This method adds balance and rhythm to sentences giving ideas a smoother flow and thus can be persuasive because of the repetition it employs. For example, “Alice ran into the room, into the garden, and into our hearts.” We see the repetition of a phrase that not only gives the sentence a balance but rhythm and flow as well. This repetition can also occur in similar structured clauses e.g. “Whenever you need me, wherever you need me, I will be there for you.

It is used in a variety of literary works.

Poetry

John Donne’s

“Good we must love, and must hate ill,
For ill is ill, and good good still;
But there are things indifferent,
Which we may neither hate, nor love,
But one, and then another prove,
As we shall find our fancy bent.”

Charles Dickens

Tale of Two Cities

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

It creates a harmony of ideas in a literary work.   One of the most invaluable tools that will strengthen your work. 

Assignment:  Write three parallel sentences.  

Math, the Son of Mathonwy, tale 4 — Part 1

Math, lord of Gwynedd, could not exist if not his feet rested on the lap of a virgin, unless he were needed in war. Thevirin now was Goewin. Math's nephew Gilvaethwy was morose because he had fallen in love with Goewin. Gilvaethwy's brother Gwydion noticed the change in him, and got him to tell him the cause of his sulkiness. Gwydion devised a plan. He told Math that Pryderi's people had a new animal, very tasty; and called swine or pig. They were given him by Arawn, king of Annwvn. It was agreed that the brothers and ten more would disguise themselves as bard, and entertain Pryderi; then ask for pigs as payment. This was carried out, but there was a prohibition against letting go the animals until they doubled their number. But the next day an exchange was made for what were actually illusiory beautiful gold harnessed horses and greyhounds conjured up by Gwydion.

They ride off with the pigs, and later the horses and greyhounds disappear. Pryderi and his men go off in pursuit. Knowing they were pursued, the men of the north caged the pigs; and went to tell Math, who set out after Pryderi. This gave Gilvaethwy the opportunity he wanted with the maiden, and the next morning he went to Math's camp. After a slaughter on both sides, and hostage taking, Pryderi requested Gwydion and he fight, since the latter was the cause of the violence. By magic and charm, Gwydion killed Pryderi.

When Math learned that Gilvaethwy violated Goewin, he recompensed her, and punished the brothers by transforming them into animals three years in a row. At the end of each year, he took their offspring. The first year they were deer, the second wild hogs, the third year wolves. In each case, Math struck the offspring with a wand, and the beast was changed into a boy, and was baptised. Math requesting a new virgin, Arianrod, his niece, was brought to him. When told to step over a wand, two babies appeared. Before the second one could be seen, Gwydion concealed it. Math named the first one Dylan. He died young, by a blow from an uncle.

One day Gwydion heard the baby he put in a chest crying. He had it nursed. After the child has grown a few years, Gwydion brings him to Arianrod, who learning the child is hers, is shamed; and refuses to name him. Gwydion, through trickery, has her name the boy. When a wren stood on the deck of a ship and the boy hit it with a shot, Arianrod calls the boy a lion, to describe the feat. For this he was named Llew Llaw Gyffes. The same after she refused to give him arms. Another time, illusory attack is created, and Arianrod has the boy armed to meet the enemy; but then the enemy vanished. She then proclaims he will never have a wife of this world. So a woman is created for him from natural sources; and she was named Blodeuwedd. Math gave Llew a territory to rule. 

Queens of Studio B

 

Being the chief meteorologist for weather station W-AMOK meant a certain prestige for Glenda Mason. Except for that one day each month when the segment aired on the set of the horror show. The diva, to make matters worse, had brought aboard a number of equally crackpot sidekicks. But the show had a profitable cult following the stockholders liked. 

Glenda's protest ended with the manager thumping his copy of her contract. Resigned, she ventured into the second-floor studio, where her producer had set the monitor for a map of California. She forced a smile for the cameraman. "Good morning from the set of the. . . .Wicca Horror Show. Today's weather report is courtesy of Ashbury Conglomerates. Here to introduce our sponsor is the show's host."

"Hostess." No one would argue that, given Wicca's vampish black stage dress. "Don't buy your conglomerates--whatever that is--from anyone else. Before we get into that, Brenda, didn't I see you flirting with Mr Assberry? Buttering up the old boy, are we?"

"It's Glenda." Clenched smile. "I don't flirt with our sponsors."

The second occurrence of the word opened a door for the cyborg character. "Flirtation: teasing with the possibility of illicit sex."

"I'd never cheat on my husband," Glenda huffed.

"Counter-intuitive," said the gold plated wannabe from Metropolis. "The escalating nature of this activity must lead to eventual mating." 

"Now, Queenie." Wicca waved it aside. "This you find a problem, when you have the world on the road to Ragnarok?" 

She had to be shilling for her own show. Glenda feigned interest. "Is that one of your horror titles?"

A deep voice interjected. "Tragically,  no." The bearded, helmed dwarf called Hecabano entered the fray. "I told the diva it was a bad idea bringing in the queen of the Bot Star Empire. Despite precautions, Queenie managed to shoot a barb into the station tabby, which proceeded, in her words, to 'target select individuals'. Now the world is hopelessly bottified." 

Wicca flung out bejeweled arms. "Oh well! What do I care? Just give me more time to stockpile goodies in the Outworld before it all blows up." 

The Outworld already. Glenda called her out. "Now I know you're talking about your show."

But the host wasn't listening. "Queenie, I'm going to find an iron rod and spank your--"

"My database," said the cyborg, "indicates this as flirtation."

Wicca smacked a frustrated hand across her eyes.

"She's good." The dwarf shook with silent laughter.

"Then I'm confused," Glenda protested. "This is one of your comedy routines. Don't you people ever come out of character?"

Wicca steered her aside. "There's something you should know, Linda. Watch out for anyone with needles coming out their fingertips. But there's a safer way to spot them."

"I'm almost interested."

With a knowing wink, Wicca put a finger to the side of her nose. "If it's woke, it's broke." She sashayed back toward the set. 

After mixing up with these kooks, Glenda had quite forgotten to do the weather.

A Creative Year during Covid

 

How has the whole year treated you? How have you coped?   If you published works  this year, congratulations. I am still working on book three, now at chapter seven. Almost halfway and getting to the next part.   Making sure characters are strong and express themselves as they should. I look at lots of photos of inspiring things.  Thus, something captivated me in one of them. A new character was born.  Anything is possible in a creative mind.

The last few months have been rough topped with putting our son back into school for about seven more days till the summer. In the meantime I've found ways to work around the schedule to write, write, and write.   It's been a full year since we've retreated to our homes during the covid and things just keep getting crazy.  How does your niche keep you occupied in the storm of things going on around us?  Do you have something that diverts your attention? I either write or read someone else's work.   I can go anywhere in my mind.  I think of a time when there were no worries and concerns that sets me at ease.

Oh by the way, thought my diet was pretty healthy, but scaling back to loose some mere pounds during the pandemic.  Back to lean proteins and greens or vegetables. 

Moving soon and filling up boxes as much as we can.  The groundwork is already happening and our new house will be ready.   Going to miss this yard, this house.  Our garden, gotta empty the half barrels to take them with us.   Change is good, as we are going a bit more north in Georgia.

So tell us what you are working on tonight. Help yourself to some coffee, or an espresso brownie and tell us what your project is.  I hear someone wants to write a book, a poem, or try some drawing.  Maybe you just want to enjoy the company. 

   

A Meeting of Minds

 

"Open servo panel L65." Commander Moast, inverted in his EVA suit, hand-walked another sixteen inches along the hexagonal tunnel. A slot emerged, ready for its processor to be replaced with a hybrid alien design. It was the whole reason for this second jump out to Epsilon Eridani, though not a reason he shared with the Consortium. 

The first mission came at the behest of aliens hunted by a predatory nihilistic machine race. The starship Orchidia had followed their directions to a wormhole between dimensions. A black hole bomb had sealed the invaders on their own side: 'nuff said. 

The slot retracted. "Integration complete," said the AI into his helmet receiver. "Request simultaneous test of cognition."

This was a new attribute. Previously, she had to rapidly shift between tasks, but the alienware gave her a more humanlike ability to multitask. Millions of times faster, that is. The goods came from Epsilon's planet Aegir, where the aliens hid the remains of the only enemy ship they'd managed to destroy. Moast intended to have first crack at the bonanza. .

"A game, then." Moast floated backwards to the next interlink. "Give me a running readout of the star while playing a word game. Just to make it interesting, add any questions about humans you may have." A joke which she missed, because she had no end of questions about the irrational humans. "Ready? Give me a word, and we'll take turns expanding it."

"The word is TERN, a type of sea bird. Equatorial rotation is 11.2 days. Query: what was the allure of Gilligan's Island?"

Moast inserted the current packet. "Well then, I'll stretch your word to STERN. Take that! As for that old sitcom, people liked to see how many different ways Gilligan could screw over the castaways."

"Word expansion is CONSTERNATION. You lose. Spectral class K2 indicates an orange dwarf. Query: why was Gilligan not imprisoned?"

So far so good. She even had attitude, what with the "loser" crack. The first task was efficiently laid to rest. 

"That would defang Gilligan and defeat the comedy."

"Apparent magnitude3.73. Analysis: the unlikely tolerance of Gilligan's errors, along with their dreary predictability, ultimately defeated the premise."

"Don't forget how much we like to laugh." Another thing she'd never figure out. 

"Solar mass 0.82. Query: why was it overwhelmingly males portrayed as deficient in intellect?"

Moast launched himself toward the exit junction. "I suppose it was a holdover of chivalry toward women. Later it became a coordinated attack on the family structure, especially the father figure."

"Right ascension 0.018 arcseconds. Observation: yet your civilization survived despite the resulting world war." 

"Sure. We also had family shows like the Waltons and Little House." Moast reached the core exit vestibule, which served as an interim chamber for sterility. Climbing out into a passage, he removed the helmet. Orchidia's avatar materialized nearby. The wide-eyed anime waif of before was now more realistic, but somehow off. 

"Results of upgrade: quantum error rate is reduced from 1.2 percent to 0.4 percent." 

Quite an improvement over early quantum machines with their error rate of 3 percent. The problem stemmed from the concept itself, in which a third state  beyond zero and one was merely a sophisticated guess at what the next digit would be. 

"Query, my dear. Can you now figure us out?"

"If you refer to your unpredictably branching thought process, layered between logic and emotion, then I lack the necessary paradigm." Task complete, she simply disappeared.

"Oh well. It seems we're still short on the social graces as well." 

Fireflies

 

The first task is to overlay a scene with violet film to make it later in the day. Then add firefly light for a twilight touch. From a 10x16 acrylic.

The Pass-Through Phenomenon

 

"It was a most bizarre case," I reminded as we entered the lab. "And here we are again. What devilment is afoot this time?"

"Ah yes," Holmes mused. "The Case of the Frozen Monkey; Professor Charmon's experiment in teleportation. He forgot the earth's movement and rotation. Thus, the poor simian found himself briefly in orbit, a most chilling proposition."

Tall stacks of storage batteries lined the passage to the reaction chamber. There, a large white screen dominated a space humming with infernal gadgets--at least in my opinion. The fundamental laws of time and space ought not to be tampered with. 

The professor came out of his office, both hands extended to us. I was obliged a left-handed handshake. "Holmes, Watson--I'm glad you could make it. Once again I seek counsel outside of my immersion in physics. I cannot accept the outcome of my experiment."

Holmes regarded the wild-haired, bespectacled researcher. "I understand it involves a search for alternate dimensions."

"Quite so, and we would expect an infinite variety of worlds. But they're all the same! The law of statistics makes this impossible."

I hovered uncomfortably close to the portal. "Harrumpf! My very hairs are standing on end before this gateway to the river Styx!"

"Hardly  from fear, old boy." Holmes approached. "I daresay it's the electric  potential about the screen, eh Professor?"

"Ey? Oh yes, yes. Now then, are we ready for a quick look 'round?"

"Good heavens, man!" I objected. "After what happened to the monkey?"

Charmon shook his head. "It's quite safe, Doctor. As expected, the site is recognizable by certain landmarks.We'll be right here, only in a different reality. We cannot stay long due to the foul air. I need only select one of my stored settings, though I hardly see the point. There is scant difference in the blighted landscapes."

I could practically hear the gears churning in Holmes' mind.

"Is there a world," Holmes asked, "in which there is some type of mass media?--a newspaper, perhaps."

"I saw something skittering about in world number six. I'll set the dial, and away we go."

The screen didn't change from its bland white. Incredibly, the professor walked right through it. We followed hesitantly. 

The place was indeed bleak. Gloom enshrouded tumbledown structures, as colorless as the wasted grass. A scant breeze did little but stir up noxious fumes. We all took to covering our mouths with a handkerchief.

Holmes held out a hand to collect some floating flotsam. "Ash. Perhaps this world is volcanic, or suffered some man-made calamity." He spotted movement. "There! It appears to be a paper." He rushed up a low hillock before it fluttered out of sight. 

I kept a nervous eye on the glowing gateway behind us, fearful of its collapse ere we escape this charnel house. 

The detective walked down, still reading. "I have news for you, Professor. You have merely traveled to our own future." He leafed through pages. "An asteroid called Apophis struck the planet in the year 2029, laying waste to over a third of it. In spite of this, there's a world war going on. It seems nothing will ever bring us together in common cause." 

Charmon coughed in the bad air. "I knew it would happen. The pass-through phenomenon!" He explained for our benefit. "Alternate realities vibrate at extremely small increments to ours It's easy to pass right through the dimensional potential into time itself." He looked glum. "We've not much of a future, it seems."

"But surely," I pointed out, "there is plenty of time for science to deal with a mere space rock. Think of what we'll accomplish in over a hundred years!"

Holmes let the paper drift away. "You're forgetting the nature of politics, dear boy. Money is better spent getting re-elected, and buying favors from the arms conglomerate. The wonder of it is that we make it that far."

After a bout of gloomy reflection, we went back into the gateway. I looked back one last time. A pair of noisy flying machines screamed by overhead, powered by some means I could not fathom." Humpf! You've got the money for those at any rate." Distant explosions prompted me to hastily depart.