From 643d9ceb308c206a6e572c7c555168ff0ca60bc1 Mon Sep 17 00:00:00 2001 From: Case Duckworth Date: Fri, 27 Mar 2015 15:40:42 -0700 Subject: Fix #5: Verse typesetting Thanks to the pandoc-discussion thread at , line breaks in verse have been converted to s, which enables the CSS to style them with hanging indents, given a too-small viewport. This commit also includes a makefile edit to reflect this change, and the Haskell source and executable of the pandoc filter. --- exasperated.html | 14 +++++++------- 1 file changed, 7 insertions(+), 7 deletions(-) (limited to 'exasperated.html') diff --git a/exasperated.html b/exasperated.html index 51e9fe4..2dc3147 100644 --- a/exasperated.html +++ b/exasperated.html @@ -36,13 +36,13 @@
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I didn’t write this sestina yesterday.
It’s the first time I fell behind in my task
and hopefully, the only time it will.
This means that today I must write two
sestinas. If I don’t write them today, I
will have to write two later down the line.

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Although I feel I’m slogging through each line
I think I’m doing better every day,
though maybe this is wishful thinking: I
showed my friend my just-completed task
two days ago (my God, was it two
entire days? I’ve no idea what I’ll

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do after thirty-nine days. I think I’ll
feel like Inigo Montoya, who’d been in the line
of revenging for so long, he didn’t know what to
do with the rest of his life), and he deigned
to be polite, but I could tell the task
was hard for him. He told me finally that I

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had made a noble effort, but that ultimately I
failed. So my question: when will
I be a decent sestina writer? For this is my task.
Maybe if I just keep cranking out line after line
I’ll finally figure it out. Maybe one more day
or another week will do it, or maybe I’ll need two,

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or maybe it’ll never happen. Maybe a sestina’s too
involved, too much weaving of words too fine, and I
will never write a good one, even on my best day,
even if I employ all my skill and all my will.
I’m not used to writing poems with thirty-nine lines,
that must be the problem, must be why this task

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is Herculean. He only had to finish twelve tasks,
and I have one less one thousand, five hundred twenty-two,
and it’s nothing but complaining lines
about how hard it is to be a person. I
am getting sick of myself with these poems, and will
soon be loathe to get out of bed every day.

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But I tasked myself with this, which may be the worst I
ever do to myself. I thought a poem NaNoWriMo would
be fun, would line my resume, give me something I could publish someday.

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I didn’t write this sestina yesterday.It’s the first time I fell behind in my taskand hopefully, the only time it will.This means that today I must write twosestinas. If I don’t write them today, Iwill have to write two later down the line.

+

Although I feel I’m slogging through each lineI think I’m doing better every day,though maybe this is wishful thinking: Ishowed my friend my just-completed tasktwo days ago (my God, was it twoentire days? I’ve no idea what I’ll

+

do after thirty-nine days. I think I’llfeel like Inigo Montoya, who’d been in the lineof revenging for so long, he didn’t know what todo with the rest of his life), and he deignedto be polite, but I could tell the taskwas hard for him. He told me finally that I

+

had made a noble effort, but that ultimately Ifailed. So my question: when willI be a decent sestina writer? For this is my task.Maybe if I just keep cranking out line after lineI’ll finally figure it out. Maybe one more dayor another week will do it, or maybe I’ll need two,

+

or maybe it’ll never happen. Maybe a sestina’s tooinvolved, too much weaving of words too fine, and Iwill never write a good one, even on my best day,even if I employ all my skill and all my will.I’m not used to writing poems with thirty-nine lines,that must be the problem, must be why this task

+

is Herculean. He only had to finish twelve tasks,and I have one less one thousand, five hundred twenty-two,and it’s nothing but complaining linesabout how hard it is to be a person. Iam getting sick of myself with these poems, and willsoon be loathe to get out of bed every day.

+

But I tasked myself with this, which may be the worst Iever do to myself. I thought a poem NaNoWriMo wouldbe fun, would line my resume, give me something I could publish someday.