Waiter, I say, waiter, there is some French goobledeegook on the title of this post. I’ll never patronize this establishment again!
Ah, shuddup. Mad Genius Club is culture!
French goobledeegook Ahem, the beautiful and poetic phrase above is French for “We tend to return to our first obsessions.”
Look, it’s just way prettier than the English pithy phrases for the same thing, which range from the innocuous “like a bad penny” to the nauseating “Like a dog returns to his vomit.”
Oh, perhaps it is getting older. Though if it is this child of — coughs as the church hymnal said — the lunar age, is going to sound downright futuristic as she ages into senility.
Or perhaps it is….
Well, I’ve been doing a deep dive into a blog about the work being done on the human genome. And the bizarre thing is how much of us is dictated by genes. Oh, not…. not everything. And you can overcome a lot by sheer determination, not to mention modern medicine, because…. well, being human is not for wusses, I guess.
For instance, I was probably born ADD — weirdly, the concussions might have helped there, since it limited brainpower somewhat — but unlike my ancestors, I haven’t grown more vague and grumpy as I get older. You see we have a mouth conformation that means we get bad sleep apnea in our mid twenties, and then live the rest of our lives on short sleep and grumpy as three armadillos tied by the tail.
And all of a sudden, once I figured that out (Took me a while since the family treated “you sleep less and less and poorer and poorer as you get older” as something that happens to EVERYONE, so I obviously thought they knew. I mean, both sides agreed, which is rare enough.) I understood why from about 40 on married couples sleep in separate beds, and can be heard to snore by the entire neighborhood. Right?
Also, I recovered my power of concentration, to the extent it ever existed.
So, you know, these things are genetic AND environmental. And if something genetic is really really bad and against where you want to get to, you can overcome it. It will just be harder than for someone who was born with better genetics. Because nature is never fair.
For instance, I suck at languages. No, listen to me, I suck at languages. And hate learning them. I know this because my brother is one of those people who picks up new languages effortlessly, including ones that he shouldn’t be able to. Like, Spanish. Spanish is really hard for native Portuguese speakers, because it’s so similar to Portuguese, your brain keeps glitching and re-writing.
But he went on vacation to Spain. FOR TWO WEEKS. And came back speaking Castellano Cerrao, without an accent, the bastage.
Me? I have to brute force it. Might never have tried to learn languages, except they made me learn French starting in 5th grade, and I wanted to learn English because I wanted to read un-translated Heinlein. And then, as it happened, due to family plus the times I lived in, I found myself in humanities, and languages are the things that are the least “Matter of opinion” in the humanities. (Even more than geography.) So I went into that.
And every time I’m learning a language I have to brute force my brain into it.
It involves a crazy amount of studying and memorizing for basic vocabulary, and then spending a year reading in the language, with a dictionary to hand, and a pencil to write translations above EACH word.
It’s….. unpleasant. But it works. Even though my brain wasn’t designed for this, in any way, shape or form.
It is the same way I learned to write, oh, contemporary mysteries, which I never thought I would, for various reasons. Or shifter series, which was so against my mind-grain, that the d*mn series is …. well, hardly fantasy at all.
Which brings us to pennies and dogs and vomit…..
The series has been on ice for a while — I think it’s cursed, yo. BUT the next book TRULY is almost done, and has to be done by…. consults mental calendar, tomorrow night. Mostly because I need to catch up to my publication schedule, which was thrown upside down and sideways by being sick most of January and spending Friday recovering.
My current editor, the ADD raccoon shape shifter is getting annoying on the subject. (Yeah, yeah, I KNOW “write faster, toots.”)
The thing is, while the series was in hiatus, 14 year old Sarah who devoured the “Chariot of the gods” type tripe by the metric truckload got hold of it.
On Revient Toujours à ses Premières Amours.
Ancient aliens? Oh, you should be so lucky.
Sure, of course ancient aliens, and mysterious ruins, and mystical star people, and …. oh, dear.
I got some truly bizarre science fiction in my shifter fantasy.
As though the poor thing weren’t already eccentric enough.
Ah, well. To quote from the French again: Je suis qui je suis et je plais a qui je plais.
Or in English. I yam what I yam….
And sometimes the potato ain’t all sweet. 😉
*Featured image Nataliya Voitkevich at Pexels.