In my family, among my breed of people, wanting to rid the world of yourself is not unusual. It’s like having blue eyes, as all of us do. We are built to live with and in spite of it. I remember as a teenager having conversations with my mother at the kitchen table where we would promise each other one more year. No crying, no dramatics, just a measured conversation like you have when you strike any other kind of deal. I will stay for you if you will stay for me. Then promise again, the next year, and the next. We don’t have those conversations anymore, because it goes without saying, now.
A friend said this to me tonight, someone I really care about, and it made me think about all of this directly for the first time in a while. Someone would like to know me when I am old. I could take that for granted, but I don’t.
I thought about this again tonight after the Robin Williams news broke. My life as a depressed person almost feels like it happened to someone else. I wish to god everyone were so lucky.
The languages I’ve created for the shows I work on come out of the naturalist tradition… The realism of a language is grounded in the reality (fictional or otherwise) of its speakers. If the speakers are more or less human (or humanoid) and are intended to be portrayed in a realistic fashion, then their language should be as similar as possible to a natural language.
"This spring, I experienced a fact-checking session with three linguists that was so remarkable, it showed me I should always be paying more attention to every session. Because this particular session was about language at all levels, I experienced an off-the-chart dopamine response. Oh, this is why I do what I do. It was also like a moonshot, logistics-wise, compared to most read-back situations I’ve done. And this session turned an ordinary conversation inside out so you could see all its ribs, but things were also so deliberately complicated that it no longer worked like an ordinary conversation."
Being a lady on the Internet feels like this most of the time. Impossible to breathe in that great corset thing, and it’s like the magnetic tape pulled out of cassettes, ironed into solid sheets wrapped around you for protection. Carrying other people’s baggage about what you should look/feel/sound/think like.