I was pretty sure there wasn’t a name for it, but I went looking, anyway. Because, you know, Google. I’m often a bit too wordy in my searches, which always brings some sketchy results. I hopefully clicked on the search box and full-sentence typed in, “What do you call a biography about 2 people?”
The answer seems to be “Legacy Writing,” according to Dr. Andrew Weil.
‘Legacy’ though, is a multi-layered word, with an extreme spectrum. Summarizing from MacMillan, I’ll skip to the applicable parts:
Something that someone has achieved that continues to exist after they stop working or die.
The principle that a thing which exists as a result of something that happened in the past can later be used in a different way
If I were to legacy, it would be for my thought. My style isn’t emulation oriented, except in the sense that it may easily be surpassed.
My grammar is not perfect: I allow myself sprawling loose liberties. My notes are not void of typographical errors, run-on sentences or devoid of undocumentable words.
Tuesday night writer’s fatigue often effects my error sharpness. Unlike my unguarded uncanny tendency to immediately zone in on the one menu misspelling at nearly every restaurant I’ve taken a seat in. My own weekly Knabble document review often self-relays what I meant to say and not necessarily how I typed it.
My messages cay be murky. I muddle through them, too. I think I’m pretty good at casting an issue without aim or allude. This a humbly self-examinatory conclusion drawn on revsited archives. It’s quite clear I always have a point, but I’ve noticed I’m not always sure why I felt compelled to make it. (If I ever get to the end of this story, I’ll amuse us by republishing.)
The truth is the more I muddle, the less I understand. The less I understand, and the more I struggle. There are countless times I’ve heard this command: Be still and know that I am God. When I can stop thrashing, my muddy storm waters eventually settle. Maybe, when my deeper streams clear, I will be able to return and clarify.
I’m pretty sure having a writing obligation to anyone other than myself would not be met with enthusiasm. I don’t know that I could be placidly accepting of rejections intimating I do not have an amazingly wide-reaching professional talent.
I would rather continue to be a familiar folk artist, engaging in wide-open irregular keystrokes, portraying only the patterns in my life which might help you make sense of yours.
Quote for the Week:
Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:
Love Isn’t Love (Til You Give It Away)
Per Oscar Hammerstein: The Sound of Music: I spent an hour searching for a male version of this song. Frank Sinatra is the voice in my head with the added word ‘baby’ Couldn’t find it, but this is an interesting story of how the lyric made it into the play but not to the soundtrack. 16 Going on 17 (Love isn’t Love Til You Give it Away)
Per Reba McIntyre: very similar, liberties, perhaps: love isn’t love (Til You Give It Away)
Per Michael W. Smith: different and a great message: Give It Away