There aren’t many facts about limericks,

Those brief rhymes we make up for brief kicks.

But to my dismay,

It’s Limerick Day

So here are some facts about limericks.

Nobody knows why it’s called a limerick.

The form arose in England in the 18th century and was popularized by English poet Edward Lear in the 19th century, but not even Lear used the term “limerick.” Some time after his death, Irish poet W.B. Yeats and other figures of the Irish Literary Revival applied the term to the genre, supposedly as a reference to the Maigue Poets, a circle of 18th century Gaelic poets based in County Limerick, Ireland who would frequently meet to discuss poetry and read aloud freshly composed poems. But it’s all speculation.

You can use a limerick to poke fun at anything.

You simply need to write it within the following structure:

1. Five lines arranged in one stanza.
2. Follow an anapestic rhythm, or two unstressed syllables followed by a third stressed syllable.
3. 1st, 2nd, and 5th lines must rhyme and each have three anapests.
4. 3rd and 4th lines must rhyme and each have two anapests.

Whether you’re making it clean or bawdy, just make sure it’s absurd.

Even Shakespeare wrote one.

It’s that drinking song Iago sings in Othello: “And let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink: A soldier’s a man; A life’s but a span; Why then let a soldier drink.”

The oldest limerick is thought to have been written by St. Thomas Aquinas.

That is, if a limerick is simply a five-line poem with an A-A-B-B-A rhyme scheme. The “limerick” in question goes like this:

Sit vitiorum meorum evacuatio

Concupiscentae et libidinis exterminatio,

Caritatis et patientiae,

Humilitatis et obedientiae,

Omniumque virtutum augmentatio.

St. Aquinas’s 13th century religious poem may not have been the very first to use A-A-B-B-A, but it’s apparently the oldest example that exists in writing.

You can use math to write a limerick.

Or at least, you can try to do what noted British wordplay and recreational mathematics expert Leigh Mercer did. Mercer supposedly wrote the following mathematical limerick:

Decoded, it reads:

    A dozen, a gross, and a score

    Plus three times the square root of four

    Divided by seven

    Plus five times eleven

    Is nine squared and not a bit more.

Our authors have written whole books on limericks, so be sure to check those out. 

Will you be writing a limerick today?

The post Fun Facts about Limericks appeared first on AuthorHouse.

In these days of confinement and limited socialization, we’ve had books to turn to for inspiration. That’s all thanks to the authors who continue to create worlds out of words.

This World Book Day, we wanted to take the time to think about the struggles that authors go through in producing their work. Here are some famous authors who were pitted against all manner of obstacles—and overcame them.

Victor Hugo vs. procrastination

Distracted by other writing projects and his social calendar, Hugo couldn’t quite concentrate on his French Gothic novel The Hunchback of Notre Dame. After missing the deadline by more than a year, he was ordered by his publishers to deliver the manuscript within six months or pay a fine. Miserable times called for miserable measures: Hugo locked away his formal clothes so as not to be tempted to socialize when he should be writing. If he went out, he’d have to wear nothing but a knitted shawl. His self-imposed quarantine actually worked in the end, when he finally managed to finish the book.

Agatha Christie vs. dyslexia

With her novels having sold 4 billion copies and having been translated into over a hundred languages, you probably wouldn’t have guessed that the so-called Queen of Crime was considered “the slow one” in her family. As a child, Christie often had difficulty reading and writing, although that didn’t stop her from daydreaming and making up stories. She persevered well into early adulthood, writing short stories and a novel, and at the age of 21 she finished the first book she would eventually publish.

Charles Dickens vs. his childhood

Much like his stories, Dickens’ childhood was… Dickensian. Most of his family was thrown in jail for excessive debt, so he was forced to leave school at 12 years old to work ten-hour days in a factory. His meager income of six shillings a week went into paying for his board as well as helping his family. But despite his lack of formal education, Dickens pulled himself up by his bootstraps, working as a clerk, political journalist, editor, and eventually a novelist who helped change the Victorian public’s opinion on class inequalities.

Ray Bradbury vs. the lack of an office

In the early 1950s, Bradbury was father to two screaming children. Needing a quiet place to write but lacking the funds to rent an office, Bradbury settled on renting a typewriter for 10 cents every half-hour in the UCLA library. After nine days and an investment of just $9.80, he finished his 25,000-word short story “The Fireman,” which he would later refer to as an early version of Fahrenheit 451.

Gabriel García Márquez vs. his finances

Cien Años de Soledad catapulted García Márquez into international renown—but not without first impoverishing the master of magic realism. While he spent eighteen grueling months on his novel, his wife, Mercedes, cared for the children, house, and finances. García Márquez had to sell their car to be able to sustain everyone while he wrote. When he took longer than expected, they pawned off almost all their appliances as well as obtained several lines of credit. Finally, with manuscript in hand and a debt of more than $10,000, García Márquez pawned off a few more possessions to be able to buy postage and submit the book to his publisher. The first 8,000 copies were snatched up within a week, half a million copies sold within three years, and Gregory Rabassa’s English translation was named one of 1970’s twelve best books by the New York Times Book Review.

Octavia E. Butler vs. prejudice

As a young avid reader of sci-fi magazines, Butler begged her mother to purchase a typewriter so she could try her hand at her own stories, but was told by an aunt that people of her color couldn’t be writers. She ignored this well-meaning yet defeatist advice and found other ways to express herself. She worked menial jobs and woke up at three in the morning to write, scribbled mantras of success for herself, refused to let dyslexia and rejection slips bring her down, joined a writers workshop, got a story acquired for inclusion in an anthology, produced several novels and short stories, won multiple Hugo and Nebula awards, and became the first sci-fi writer to receive a MacArthur Fellowship.

Maya Angelou vs. trauma

Maya Angelou worked as a fry cook, sex worker, nightclub performer, opera actor, civil rights organization coordinator, and war correspondent before becoming a poet and writer. She was friends with the likes of Malcolm X and James Baldwin, and when she published I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, the first of a series of seven autobiographies, she opened up about her personal life and early childhood trauma in a way that uplifted Black people, especially Black women.

What are you reading for World Book Day? Do you know the story behind that book?

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Last year, the Women’s Prize for Fiction launched a campaign to republish 25 books released under male pseudonyms with the female writers’ original names on the covers. Yet despite its good intentions, the literary award drew flak for reducing the complex history behind women’s use of male pen names.

Using a pseudonym of the opposite gender isn’t just about bypassing gendered expectations but also finding freedom in anonymity, constructing a persona or alter ego, expressing queerness, and coming to terms with racial heritage. And when you flip the coin, you’ll find that men have experienced just as much power in feminine nom de plumes.

Here are just a few male authors who wrote under female pen names.

L. Frank Baum | Edith Van Dyne

The “Royal Historian of Oz” was the star writer of publishing house Reilly & Britton. On top of publishing 13 of his 14 Oz books with them, Baum created the Aunt Jane’s Nieces series of novels.

The first book targeted the same audience as Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women and, in keeping with the female demographic, Baum was told to ascribe it to “‘Ida May McFarland,’ or to ‘Ethel Lynne’ or some other mythological female.” He chose Edith Van Dyne, and the book’s success went on to inspire nine more novels.

Charles Leslie McFarlane | Carolyn Keene

For many fans of the Nancy Drew series, it’s a revelation akin to finding out that Santa Claus isn’t real: the author Carolyn Keene is actually a pseudonym. Children’s book mogul Edward Stratemeyer founded the Stratemeyer Syndicate, a publishing company that hired ghost writers (usually newspaper reporters looking for side hustles) to flesh out Stratemeyer’s ideas and published books under continuous pseudonyms.

Canadian journalist Charles Leslie McFarlane was one such ghost writer, famed for producing not just a number of the early Hardy Boys books under Franklin W. Dixon (also a Stratemeyer pseudonym) but also the first four volumes of the Dana Girls series under Carolyn Keene.

Dean Koontz | Deanna Dwyer | Leigh Nichols

The prolific Dean Koontz has published over a hundred novels in a variety of genres. Early in his career, he was advised by his editors to use a different name for each genre he wrote in so as not to alienate established fans. Out of his ten known pseudonyms, two are female: Deanna Dwyer for gothic horror and Leigh Nichols—the most successful of all his guises—for romantic suspense.

Domenico Starnone | Elena Ferrante

Italian novelist Elena Ferrante is the internationally acclaimed author of the Neapolitan Novels and one of TIME’s 100 most influential people of 2016—and no one knows who she is. Many have conducted investigations and studies, and the current theory is that she’s actually a partnership between Italian journalist and novelist Domenico Starnone and his wife Anita Raja.

In her April 2018 column for the Guardian, Ferrante states that she relishes in being able to “devote [herself] to the pure result of a creative gesture, without worrying about a big or small name.”

Dav Pilkey | Sue Denim

Cartoonist and author Dav Pilkey is best known for the children’s book series Captain Underpants, but he has also created a series called The Dumb Bunnies under the pseudonym “Sue Denim.” Yup, no mystery here. Guy just wants to have fun.

What would your pseudonym be?

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Once upon a time, adults around the world would make up stories about magic, princesses, strange beasts, and other fantastic elements to teach children a lesson, or to make them behave or fall asleep. Most are passed down generation after generation in oral form, but hundreds of them have been preserved in the literary form that we now call the “fairy tale.”

While you may have had your fair share of tales from Aesop of Greece, the Brothers Grimm of Germany, and Hans Christian Andersen of Denmark, we thought you might want to explore stories from other parts of the globe.

Fairy Couple

Origin: China

When the youngest daughter of the celestial Jade Emperor and a lowly cowherd meet, they fall in love. The pair must overcome the unlikelihood of their romance.

The One-Handed Girl

Origin: East Africa

A girl overcomes the hardships that her brother puts her through.

The Child Who Came from an Egg

Origin: Estonia

A barren queen receives an egg that hatches into a baby girl. The princess grows up and survives a siege with the help of her godmother.

Aurore and Aimée

Origin: France

Siblings Aurore and Aimée are both beautiful, but Aurore is kind while Aimée is malevolent. Aurore is sent away and learns that misfortunes can actually benefit the unfortunate person.

The Boy Who Drew Cats

Origin: Japan

The youngest son of a farmer has an irresistible habit of drawing cats, but this turns out to be a blessing.

The Cunning Servant

Origin: Korea

The young servant of a nobleman finds ways to outsmart his master and eventually switch their lots in life.

The Master Thief

Origin: Norway

The youngest son of a poor cottager amasses wealth and finds happiness by pulling off increasingly masterful deceptions.

The Boys with the Golden Stars

Origin: Romania

The youngest and most beautiful daughter of a herdsman marries an emperor and gives birth to twin sons with stars on their foreheads.

The Light Princess

Origin: Scotland

A princess cursed with a lack of gravity meets a prince who is willing to help her overcome her weightlessness.

Laughing Eye and Weeping Eye

Origin: Serbia

A son sets out to retrieve a marvelous vine that his father once cherished.

The Twelve Months

Origin: Slovakia

Sent on a difficult errand, a girl braves a blizzard and meets the twelve months of the year huddling around a warm fire in the woods.

The Knights of the Fish

Origin: Spain

Twin brothers encounter the mystery of the castle of black marble.

Have you ever encountered these fairy tales before? What other fairy tales have taken your fancy?

The post 12 fairy tales from around the world that you might not have heard of appeared first on AuthorHouse.

Among a handful of quotes from famous authors about Thanksgiving, Victor Hugo’s is particularly poignant. Just one week before the holiday, the CDC had issued a clarion call against gatherings. We were to celebrate only at home, with the people in our household. Many of us viewed a long list of considerations and recommendations with disdain, and understandably so.

This year has brought about a sea-change in attitudes towards physical contact, which has been as short in supply as toilet paper during the early days of the pandemic. By the fourth quarter, we’ve been so starved of personal interaction that we’ve risked a reunion or two (or three).

Now, we’re being told to starve for a few more months—at least until after the vaccines have rolled out and we’ve done the necessary quarantine period. It’s more than enough torture for such social beings.

And yet even a 19^th century Frenchman knew that gratitude need not be witnessed in person to be appreciated. Granted, Hugo did have a bit of a penchant for solitude, as you can see in Les Misérables:

In winter the thicket was black, dripping, bristling, shivering, and allowed some glimpse of the house. Instead of flowers on the branches and dew in the flowers, the long silvery tracks of the snails were visible on the cold, thick carpet of yellow leaves; but in any fashion, under any aspect, at all seasons, spring, winter, summer, autumn, this tiny enclosure breathed forth melancholy, contemplation, solitude, liberty, the absence of man, the presence of God; and the rusty old gate had the air of saying: “This garden belongs to me.”

Still, we can all take a leaf out of his book and try to be content with virtual socializing for now.

How was your Thanksgiving? Did you manage to give thanks in solitude?

The post What Victor Hugo said about Thanksgiving shows that he was ahead of his time appeared first on AuthorHouse.

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If looking back on 2020 isn’t the most appealing exercise to you right now, that’s completely understandable. It’s been a never-ending handkerchief magic trick of pain and loss so far. Looking back is just as stressful, too; even as you strive to adapt to the “new normal,” the year continues to throw you a curveball or two.

For now, let’s look to Austrian neurologist and psychologist Viktor Frankl. After living through Auschwitz, Frankl went on to pen Man’s Search for Meaning, his bestselling memoir where he details his use of humor to stay sane and to survive. In Yes to Life: In Spite of Everything,another book of his, he warns against both pessimism and optimism since both are two sides of the same coin—both are ways to expect things from life.

When looking back and looking forward can equally paralyze you, it’s time to ask a different question. To paraphrase Frankl, the question can no longer be “What can I expect from 2020?” but “What can 2020 expect of me?”

Ask Google about how the publishing industry has dealt with the pandemic, and you’ll find so many embodiments of the latter question. It’s story after story of authors submitting their manuscripts, holding launch parties and book tours on Zoom, and looking out for readers by giving away their books.

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Authors who published with us have been keeping busy.

What can you accomplish in three months? Well, NaNoWriMo’s coming up, so you could start planning a novel now, speed-write it by November, and polish it within December. If you want to spice things up, you could try writing one novel for each month instead—three fresh novels by December!

Of course, not every writer lives for the thrill of the word count. You could dedicate yourself to researching and outlining. Three months is barely enough time to explore the internet’s plethora of content. Before you know it, it’ll be the new year.

If you’re fortunate enough to have a manuscript ready right now, you can always reach out to one of our publishing consultants and have a chat about your publishing options.

Remember, it’s a matter of asking what you’re capable of. Frankl said it beautifully: “The question life asks us… does not only change from hour to hour but also changes from person to person…”

As with Frankl’s outlook, the beauty of self-publishing is the freedom to accomplish things at your own pace. Start with what you have right now, and everything will follow.

The post Looking back, looking forward appeared first on AuthorHouse.

For something that’s considered an art, writing sure has a ton of “advice” you’re supposed to follow if you dream of success; stray from oft-repeated wisdom and you’re branded as a rule breaker.

But really, writing is an art. What works for one writer can work for thousands of others, yet this doesn’t guarantee that it’ll work for you. It’s even possible that this is a part of the pressure so many writers feel. You try to sit down and write every day, but your brain refuses to cooperate most of the time. You try freewriting, but you end up with inedible word soup. You try using pen and paper, but this leads you down a procrastinatory path of finding the best notebook and the best pen tip size—and your hand cramps up a lot.

Upon closer inspection, much of writing is simply busywork, a checklist of standards you’re supposed to meet before you can hope to come up with something good. Looking around you, you’ll also find that many writers succeeded because they broke the rules. They took the experiential wisdom of others, smashed it, reassembled it, gave it two or three coats of paint, and called it style. Perhaps you’ve experienced this too. Have you ever tried ignoring writing advice to the betterment of your writing? Did you set out to do it or was it out of necessity? How did you feel as you went along this path, and how did you deal with those feelings? Would you do it again or do you plan to follow what’s advised next time? Tell us about it in the comments.

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