Not for the faint of art. |
Complex Numbers A complex number is expressed in the standard form a + bi, where a and b are real numbers and i is defined by i^2 = -1 (that is, i is the square root of -1). For example, 3 + 2i is a complex number. The bi term is often referred to as an imaginary number (though this may be misleading, as it is no more "imaginary" than the symbolic abstractions we know as the "real" numbers). Thus, every complex number has a real part, a, and an imaginary part, bi. Complex numbers are often represented on a graph known as the "complex plane," where the horizontal axis represents the infinity of real numbers, and the vertical axis represents the infinity of imaginary numbers. Thus, each complex number has a unique representation on the complex plane: some closer to real; others, more imaginary. If a = b, the number is equal parts real and imaginary. Very simple transformations applied to numbers in the complex plane can lead to fractal structures of enormous intricacy and astonishing beauty. |
The headline from today's article sounds like something Cracked would tackle, but no, it's LitHub. You'd think that out of all possible professions, writing would be among the least prone to occupational hazard. Maybe the occasional carpal tunnel, but that's about it, right? Well, you'd be right, but as this article shows, nothing is perfectly safe. Even the toughest of poets and strongest of Hemingways would have to admit that “writer” is not a particularly dangerous job. (Unlike, say, fisherman, miner, logger, knife-thrower assistant.) This, of course, depends on the kind of writer you are. Novelist who sits at home and relies on Wikipedia for research? Sure. War correspondent? Not so much. Still, a few writers in history have actually suffered some serious health problems as a result of their writing practice—or in some cases, the drugs they used to fuel it. Yeah, drugs probably shouldn't count. Those aren't specific to the writing profession. As I noted above, this isn't Cracked, so no numbered list, countdown or otherwise. Orwell struggled with health problems from childhood, and things were not improved when he was shot in the neck in Spain. But as Ross writes at PW, “his health collapsed for the first time after the writing of Homage to Catalonia, and the heroic effort of writing and revising Nineteen Eighty-Four would kill him.” Or was it the government trying to suppress his work? Over at Poets & Writers, Anelise Chen notes that Herman Melville “dove with such intensity into his whale book that his entire family circulated letters conspiring to make him rest. Ignoring their pleas, he emerged from Moby-Dick plagued with eye spasms, anxiety attacks, and debilitating back pain.” What a coincidence. Those things happen when you try to read it, too. The nineteenth-century Italian poet Giacomo Leopardi... Who? ...whom Adam Kirsh has dubbed “the supreme poet of passive, helpless suffering,”... Clearly, Kirsh didn't know Leonard Cohen. ...may have turned out that way because he from debilitating scoliosis, which gave him a hump and turned him into, as he put it, “a walking sepulcher.” He blamed his condition on his “scholarly excesses” Nah, it was all the sex he got from being a poet. Honoré de Balzac was famously addicted to coffee, which he loved for what it did for his writing. Take heed, fellow WDC authors. Neither did it go perfectly well for Balzac himself, who reportedly died of caffeine poisoning at the age of 51. Fuck me, caffeine poisoning is a thing? Objectivist Ayn Rand also had an addiction that sprang from her writing process: amphetamines. Unfortunately for the world, they didn't cause her early demise. If you’re familiar with his work, it isn’t particularly surprising to find out that Franz Kafka put himself through emotional and physical hell to get his writing done. What? That's absurd. His throat closed up, precluding the ingestion of any food, and so he technically died of starvation, working on his story “The Hunger Artist” to the very last. Thus was the modern definition of irony born. |