Kat, I fully agree with your premise. Most in the writing game call it "finding your voice" but I like the deeper definition you present of "finding your own langauge." Lewis Carroll took that premise to the edge when he wrote "Jabberwocky." He truly not only found his own language, but he found one that I was in tune with the first time I heard it. At five, before I was introduced to the stultifying limitations upon writing as presented by my grade school teachers in the

mid-1940s, I had no idea that there were requirements that restricted a writer to real words.

Challenging protocols later in life, I reexamined their premise and when I wrote for publication, decided, where appropriate to the context, to reinvent the hidden meaning in words and the hidden words in meaning. I made the sounds of language superior in intent and meaning to the dictionary definition of words.

I enjoy writing in code. In fiction, sometimes I use an incorrect word because it sounds better and make it work in context - especially dialogue which has unlimited possibilities.

The review you address: Cameron (C)rowe rewriting MaryS' presentation caused more stir than was posted. Sometimes, a review speaks to the merits of the author and sometimes to the merits of the writer.

When a writer shifts from flat writing to engaging tools such as metaphor and simile, and allows what others say to be what he or she will never say, you have more chance to see a shape-shifting in the use of language. When the real darkness in our soul is given freedom from the censor, then too, language often takes on shadows and dimensions unseen in early story writing which tends to be:

* a straight line from beginning to end

* words used in their traditional context

* patterns of speech from Main Street rather than Lilliput or Brobdingnag.

* an acceptable ending right out of crass, commercial Hollywood.

* characters that are cardboard imitations of someone else's imitations of life.

* plots that deviate not at all from that of popular fiction.

I am also of the belief that music and writing come from the same roots and require the same elements:

* Pitch

* Tone

* Rhythm

A word is a note; a phrase is a chord and a sentence is a bar. The rhythm of the sentence determines its ability to take the reader for a ride. The tonality of words strung into sentences and their pitch creates the emotional power through which the reader sees three dimensional scenes and characters. Some write in 2:4 time; others in 4:4. Some use a front beat and other a backbeat. You can alter the notes and the chords but you are obligated to continue the pattern you establish throughout the work, ending much where you began.

I found that writing in my field - psychotherapy - often requires you to use words as tools to create specific impacts upon the minds of readers. Here is a small example of how I used intent to stop the reader in his or her tracks:

People who want to get married in the worst way ... usually do.

In the ordinary meaning, "someone who wants to do something in the worst way" is taken in a positive connotation. The thrust aims at the power of the need. Here, I allow the reader to follow that line of thinking until I pull a reversal. This technique is called paradoxical writing where you literally use a word in its traditional form with the intent that it will cause the reader a jolt when you reverse its meaning afterward but in the same context, and then a cause to reexamine a long-held belief.

Yesterday, Lan used the word "balance" as a tool to read a poem posted here. He found a particular line out of balance. By following his perception, it restored an entire work into a balance that it previously lacked, thus empowering the piece, affecting rhythm, tone and pitch. It tied the beginning to the end and brought closure to the reader.

Most people have tin ears when it comes to reading. They truly do not hear the sounds of a piece of writing or the rhythm. When a writer has a tin ear, the product has flaws that interrupt the reader in his or her journey through the piece of writing. When you are writing in your own language, you can hear the difference.

When I ask someone to read my work, I want primarily to see whether they get what I am trying to depict. I don't give a damn if they like my words or my rhythm or my "balance" -- because those are indeed MINE. I write for the writer, not the reader. Kat's point is so valid to me. I don't write well until I give myself permission to write without worrying about doing it well. Writing for me is like opening a door inside and letting something or someone come through. I can't tell them that they are the wrong color, or that they aren't walking right. And neither can anyone else.

Milt,

Wordy and a trifle pedantic (smile) but valuable. What made me sit up and take notice was your final paragraph. Such verity! The greatest pleasure for me in writing is creating almost musical rhythms with words. Be these jarring, soothing, arousing or intentionally flat, composition of these word rhythms is where joy resides for this "composer."