The article below, found on Facebook, is so close to the description of the world I knew growing up that I had to copy it and share with the many to whom it will sound like fiction.
MY GENERATION
If you were born between 1930 and 1946, you belong to an incredibly rare group: only 1% of your generation is still alive today. At ages ranging from 77 to 93, your era is a unique time capsule in human history.
Here’s why:
You were born into hardship. Your generation climbed out of the Great Depression and bore witness to a world at war. You lived through ration books, saved tin foil, and reused everything—nothing was wasted.
You remember the milkman. Fresh milk was delivered to your door. Life was simpler and centered around the basics. Discipline came from both parents and teachers, with no room for excuses.
Your imagination was your playground. Without TVs, you played outside and created entire worlds in your mind from what you heard on the radio. The family gathered around the radio for news or entertainment.
Technology was in its infancy. Phones were communal, calculators were hand-cranked, and newspapers were the primary source of information. Typewriters, not computers, recorded thoughts.
Your childhood was secure. Post-WWII brought a bright future—no terrorism, no internet, no global warming debates. It was a golden era of optimism, innovation, and growth.
You are the last generation to live through a time when:
Black-and-white TVs were cutting-edge.
Highways weren’t motorways.
Shopping meant visiting downtown stores.
Polio was a feared disease.
While your parents worked hard to rebuild their lives, you grew up in a world of endless possibilities. You thrived in a time of peace, progress, and security that the world may never see again.
If you’re over 77 years old, take pride in having lived through these extraordinary times. You are one of the lucky 1% who can say, "I lived through the best of times."
Credit goes to the original author ✍ Respect
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Grace note: How I wish I knew the author of the above, so I could say "Thank you" for putting it so well.
The Problem with Being Prosy
Grace note: Avoiding being Prosy is a totally new topic, one not covered in the Archives or in Making Magic With Words. It came up totally out of the blue as I read an "older" Regency series I seem to have missed in the past. In "Regency speak" prosy refers to characters who drone on and on, ad infinitum, evidently oblivious to the fact that their words are not precious gems, fascinating to all. Mr. Collins in Pride and Prejudice is an excellent example.
So, how does this apply to writing Fiction?
Though I am, perhaps, skewing the definition of "prosy" a bit, that was the best word I could come up to define the exquisitely crafted but totally unbelievable prose in the series mentioned above. Not only did the dialogue read like two academicians attempting to outdo each other in a debate, but the characters' introspection read like the thesis of a candidate for PhD!
The words were beautifully put together, no question about that, but the classic phrase "suspended disbelief" refused to kick in. There was no way I could accept that people—even well-educated nobles of the Regency era—would ever speak to each other in such exquisitely crafted phrases. Or think in language it would take even an English professor weeks, if not months, to craft . . . ? No way, no how.
I kept reading, admiring the word structure, even as I wrinkled my nose at the believability of anyone actually talking or thinking with such perfection.
So . . . am I actually saying beautifully crafted prose is BAD?
If it is so perfect as to be unbelievable, yes. Ah . . . I hear the arguments sputtering on your tongues, so here is my rebuttal:
Yes, it is vitally important that authors of books set in the Regency get the flavor of the language of the Regency correct, as well as the "cant" of the period. Yes, most nobles of the period were well-educated, and even though the females had far less "book learning," they were brought up to speak the flawless English common to their class. They were not, however—male or female—taught to speak or think like a university textbook! More likely, they would have been shunned for such abnormally academic behavior.
Therefore, authors beware! Particularly those not long out of college. DO NOT MAKE YOUR CHARACTERS ERUDITE! Or, even worse, "prosy" (droning on about nothing) unless, as with Mr. Collins, "prosy" is an important part of their characterization.
DO NOT put academically elite prose into your characters' mouths (again, unless it is a necessary part of a single character's portrayal).
And, worst of all, DO NOT have your characters thinking in sentences that only a university professor might write for an academic paper.
In short, tell your story in words and phrases that might actually have been spoken or thought by people of the time; NOT in words crafted with all the complexity of a gifted poet.
Grace note: If all else fails, re-read Jane Austen for the speech of the gentry and Georgette Heyer for the likely speech of the nobles of the time.
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FEATURED BOOK
I can only hope I have avoided being "prosy" during my quarter century of writing, but when looking for a book to compliment this week's article, I decided to choose my very first—all 140,000 words of it. That waterfall of words was intended to tell the story of the Peninsular War through the eyes of a young lady who was only fourteen when it began. I like to think those many words stuck to high adventure, romance, betrayal, and a Happily Ever After reached only by the skin of the teeth. But 140,000 words? Maybe I slipped into "prosy" here and there. You can decide for yourself. The Sometime Bride is available from most digital vendors.
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