Five Questions: Syaffolee

1. Why do you blog?
Putting up a weblog is a really easy way for me to put up any interesting observations, be it something happening in my life, a subject that I’m passionate about, or even a link I find on the web. Blogging is an excellent supplement to journal writing because not only can I remind myself of what I’ve come across, but I can also share with others what I’ve found.

2. Which author and/or book has most influenced you?
I can’t really say that a specific author or book made such a large impression during my formative years that it altered the course of my life, but I can tell you that books of a particular subject did influence my decision on what I wanted to do.
It was during a summer in the grade school years that my mother enrolled me into the local library’s summer reading program. This turned me into a reading monster. I begged my parents to take me to the library every weekend (and sometimes more often). I checked out the maximum amount of books, mainly science books written for kids. I loved reading about how the world works. It must have been around this time that the notion of being a scientist displaced my dream of becoming a teacher.

3. Which three blogs do you most visit?
Shawn Allison at: (http://www.shawnallison.com/)
Pharyngula at: (http://scienceblogs.com/pharyngula/ )
Dustbury at: (http://www.dustbury.com/)

4. Why do you read fiction?
Fiction, for me, is partly escapism from the real world and partly enjoyment of great storytelling.

5. What makes you laugh?
Well-placed wit. Usually this does not include sitcoms or stand-up comedians.

S.Y. Affolee blogs at Syaffolee, which can be found here: http://www.gamalei.net/syaffolee/

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About Writing:

I might mention another embarrassment involved in the writer's habit of close attention. Once when I was driving through Colorado with a friend, traveling down a narrow mountain pass, we came upon an accident. A pickup truck and a car had collided, and from fifty feet away we could see the blood. We pulled over and ran to help. All the time I was running, all the time I was trying, with my friend's help, to pry open the door of the car in which a nine-months-pregnant woman had been impaled through the abdomen, I was thinking: I must remember this! I must remember my feelings! How would I describe this? I do not think I behaved less efficiently than my nonliterary friend, who was probably not thinking such thoughts; in fact, I may possibly have behaved more swiftly and efficiently, trying in my mind to create a noble scene. Nonetheless, what I felt above all was disgust at my mind's detachment, its inhumane fascination with the precise way the blood pumped, the way flesh around a wound becomes instantly proud, that is, puffed up, and so on. I would have been glad at that moment to be a literary innocent. John Gardner

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