Re: conlanging and journaling
From: | Benct Philip Jonsson <bpj@...> |
Date: | Tuesday, February 12, 2008, 6:57 |
On 12.2.2008 Rick Harrison wrote:
> I think those who have the calling, or the language-making
> gene or whatever, are often triggered (usually during
> adolescence) by _some_ external thing. It might be your
> first encounter with a foreign language textbook or
> bilingual dictionary, or seeing your mom/sister's
> stenography notebook from school, or bceoming aware of
> Esperanto or Tolkien's languages.
For me it was all of that, but even before that encountering
the Ape language (Mangani) in Tarzan comic books. Actually
it was some time before I realized that Tolkien's conlangs
*were* conlangs, but with Mangani I realized it immediately
(after all there are no talking apes in real life! [^1]).
Maybe I'm of the first generation who were actually
triggered by encountering the conlangs of others? I remember
that witnessing my father's and his Spanish friend's
bilingual conversation had a profound impact on my interest
in language. I had had bilingual conversations before, with
myself speaking Swedish and the other person German -- or
vice versa --, but my dad's and Juan's French-Spanish
conversations was the first time I (a) experienced two other
persons doing it and (b) didn't understand any of the two
languages, but could hear they were different.
[^1]: It seems to me now, that *either* the Mangani people
were not Pongids but surviving primitive Hominids, or
their language ought to be a signed language.
As for journaling, I've done it in conscripts, but not in
conlangs. I guess I never was fluent enough in a conlang.
Otherwise I agree with Jan that conlanging is
essentially an art, but one that only now is coming to
its own, with a community of artist. No appreciating
public so far, I'm afraid...
/BP 8^)>
--
Benct Philip Jonsson -- melroch atte melroch dotte se
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"C'est en vain que nos Josués littéraires crient
à la langue de s'arrêter; les langues ni le soleil
ne s'arrêtent plus. Le jour où elles se *fixent*,
c'est qu'elles meurent." (Victor Hugo)