One of the first dreary clichés the self-proclaimed writing experts feel they must emphasise is the ancient adagio of 'Show, don't tell'. Whatever that means.
On more than one occasion, I have used this humble plot of paper reserved for my modest musings to address the dire issue of language loss, and of Low Saxon in particular. The benefit of doing so is twofold: 1.) I extend the written resources of this language one column at a time, however infinitesimally insignificant that may seem. (Yes, I am a warrior, of sorts.) 2.) These literary droplets will hopefully inspire others to dip their pens in Saxon ink, or go back to wagging the old and honeyed tongue themselves once more.
Confident about the former, it makes me both happy and sad to know that whichever words one strings together will further extend the slowly growing body of contemporary Low Saxon literature. An easy win, if I may champion such a positive outlook. It conversely implies, however, that this is what it has come to, and that the said collection did not amount to much in the first place. We need all the able-mouthèd men and women we can muster. Our ship has sailed. Or has it? All hands on deck!
Whether it has incited the desired Low Saxon renaissance as expressed above, I am not so sure. Trawling through the arid deserts of newspapers, magazines, and digital landscapes for several years, I encountered very few sprouts of that beloved Chamavian vocal branch, despite steadfast sowing. One could conclude that, alas, my efforts have been in vain. Nobody seems to be moved to the minutest of degrees. Have I failed the language? Or was it beyond salvation to begin with, and is there truth in the yokel's proposition that we are better off without it? Have my endeavours fallen short to rally the Good People of Twente to the cause, and offer an alternative to vacuously echoing the global virtues of our revered cousin language?
The good people of Twente: "Very inportent, de English."
I: "Yup."
The good people of Twente: "De English, you know, it is inportent."
I: "It is."
The good people of Twente: "En beautiful, too."
I: "Oh, very! But let us not forget the old mother tongue, shall we?"
The good people of Twente: "Yes yes, but so inportent is dis English. Effryone's speaking it."
If the dogs bark, throw them a bone. As for that weary advice of Show, Don't Tell, I would not know how to set a better meta-example of what a future shorn of our language will look like. Happy now?