When the words present and presentation are brought to mind, images of light shows, power points, lectures, and other performances surface.
However, the verb present (pronounced pri-zent) means to furnish or endow, to bring, to give, to hand over, to introduce, to come to show. In the purest sense of the word, presenting is simply a notion of bringing ideas into someone’s presence.
Present, used as a verb, is a combination of Old French and Medieval Latin influence. The word marries the ideas of offering and presently.
Writing is merely a presentation. Words are committed to page as an offering to a reader.
The work one does is what is presented to the commonwealth. Indeed, the involuntary act of living is a presentation. One’s life can be noted, bookmarked, remarked upon, remembered, ignored, or bypassed.
Today’s post is about the word will when used as an auxiliary verb. An auxiliary verb is used in forming tenses, moods, and voices of other verbs. Will moves an action to the future.
After we collectively counted down the last minutes of 2016, we embarked on 2017 with its promise of 365 unwritten days.
With articulated resolutions told with varying conviction, we believed in the power of positive change. Resolutions are by definition set in the future: will lose weight, will quit smoking, will go back to school, will ask for a promotion, will pay down my debt, will attend more concerts, will make a new friend, will read twelve books, or will finish writing that novel.
A friend, who died last month at the age of 39, often repeated this common sentiment: “There are only two days that nothing can be done. One is yesterday. The other is tomorrow.”
I have come to loath the word will in both my writing and my thoughts. No longer do I have the luxury of ignorance of immortality. There is no time to will. There is no value in saying “I will write tomorrow.” or “I will hug my loved ones tomorrow.”
The helping verb will is dependent on assumptions. The assumption of a future. The assumption of a second chance. The assumption of endless mortal days.
I challenge myself to learn from literature. I challenge myself to avoid wishful thinking. I challenge myself to avoid will my action verbs to an uncertain future.
I act today with purpose. I postpone only the least important items. Laundry may never be complete. My floors may never be those to eat upon.
Yet, I promise to eradicate the helping verb will from my vernacular. I promise to live today.
I also vow to avoid the helping verb will in my poetry and prose. Few novels are written in future tense. (If you can think of one, please let me know.)
*Note: I know not why this friend was called early and I was given more days on earth. I miss her. Her mantra was “Loving Living Life 2Day.”
Live well my friends. Live well.
Let’s plant some seeds and grow some fun. Fun online, fun in person. Fun exchanging clever gifts, fun writing parodies to familiar songs, fun with twister or catchphrase or any other party game. Fun watching “Elf,” fun singing “Grandma got Run Over by a Reindeer,” fun “Rocking around the Christmas Tree.” Fun under the mistletoe, fun making silly face photos, fun with egg nog, fun with candy sprinkles, fun in the snow, fun wondering how the heck you roast a chestnut anyway, fun sharing Santa stories, fun singing off key or in harmony, fun recalling the bloopers of holiday past, fun gabbing with gal pals, fun meeting the latest significant other at the dinner table, fun dancing, and fun laughing with that guest who ate the most fruitcake.