What a glorious day! A shining sun! Flowers in bloom! For the first time in 15 1/2 months, my non-stop tinnitus has stopped: going on three hours now. Hallelujah!
6:15 a.m. We sat in the living room watching Joyce Meyer on television. The high-pitched screeching in my right ear grew louder and louder. And then it stopped. I didn't want to move. Breathing shallow, afraid that it would start up again, I stayed still for at least twenty minutes. Then the tears came. I knew that no matter how long it lasted, I'd remember and be grateful for the quiet that surrounded me. The peace.
If you haven't experienced tinnitus, you just won't understand. Consider yourself very lucky. If you have, you get it. You know how it feels to be distracted 24/7 by a piercing sound that no one else can hear. Carrying on conversations with people becomes difficult. Masking the noise is a priority. I did whatever it took to quiet the ringing. I often used food to help alleviate the sound, especially at night.
People with mental disorders may hear voices. People with tinnitus hear ringing or screeching, depending on the severity. In both cases, the brain shares space with an evil sound that takes away from the quality of life. The shrill ringing might come back to me at any second. If it does, it certainly would do me good to find a better way of dealing with it. ;D
A bit overweight and very happy, I sit in my quiet office. Today reaches out to me. I'm taking it all in.
Ring the bells!
Apr 2, 2012
Apr 1, 2012
Favorite Fiction
I'd love to curl up with some really good books this spring/summer while writing my novel. Looking for posts from anyone who would like to share their five favorite fiction reads. I enjoy reading mainstream fiction, current best sellers, and of course, the classics. Not much "commercial fiction" in my library, but who can resist genius Stephen King! My personal preference is a blend of women's fiction with other genres. I hate the idea of boxing books up into one genre. Anne Tyler, Jodi Picoult and Anita Shreve are a few favorites. However, any good coming of age novel or one focusing on social pressure or family and moral issues usually holds my interest.
If you write, read what you write, right? Right! I can't even imagine trying to write a romance or science fiction novel. It would be a huge waste of time - disaster! - and I'd be no better off for having done it.
A few books on my summer reading list are:
The Weight of Water by Anita Shreve
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
Water for Elephants by Sara Gruen
Lone Wolf by Jodi Picoult
This summer you won't find me with a Kindle or e-book. Can you really curl up with a Kindle? Wouldn't that be like trying to hug a goldfish? Give me the real thing (preferably hard back), a cozy chair or hammock, and good lighting. I want a story to own itself. It needs to have its own space, not shared by anything else but the reader. Stories are like people. They are individual and have names and lives going on inside their covers.
Well, more on that subject later...
I look forward to hearing from you with your five favorite works of fiction!
Mar 29, 2012
Success or Failure
The things I need to write are: a quiet room with a closed door, a large screen Mac, and small keyboard on my desk. The desk faces the wall and curtains stay closed to shut out the real world. A white noise machine sits close by on the desk in case I need to mask any distractions. Some days my tinnitus screeches louder than usual. Other days (which have become every day), the annoying chirps from hundreds of sparrows nesting in the evergreens outside my window keep me from writing. However, with the push of a button, I can mask it all.
On some mornings the words come out faster than others. After three cups of coffee and a fourth in hand, I enter the story through the screen and stay there, my fingers being the only link between their world and mine. Sentences become pages as I share the great cast of characters who live with me there. I know them well and want to keep us together for as long as possible. My main character fascinates me, speaks to me, and together we set up her story. What if "X" happened? If "X" happened, then what if "X" happened. Over and over, I write the "X's," with her leading the way.
Often, I feel nervous, alone in the room with these new people, worried that I won't be able to tell their story. I sit at my desk and stare at the screen. It looks blurry and too big. Maybe I need glasses. My detachment from the story feels real, and I wonder if my characters have moved on. Have I taken up too much of their time? Has she waved goodbye for good - exited stage left? I hear the sparrows and the ringing in my right ear over the mechanical sounds of ocean waves. The 'ping' of a new text alert sounds from my iPhone in the bedroom.
I turn the noise machine off, and stand up, pulling the curtains apart. The morning opens up to me in a watercolored frame. The gray sky and rain keep me from running outdoors. I glance toward the front yard and see more green poking up from the ground. I can't forget to get mulch from Lowe's before the spring bulbs flower. I close the curtains and sit back down. For a time, I sit with my hands in my lap, looking around the small room. Many piles of books have taken over the space. Too many books for the small corner bookshelf. I begin thumbing through Beloved, a favorite read by Toni Morrison. I wonder if one day my characters will have their special world displayed on many pages between two hard covers. I feel a chill and put the book down.
I reach for my cardagin sweater, another necessity when the air cools and the coffee cup sits empty. Do I keep writing or call it quits? Should I go pour another cup of Starbucks? There are consequences to whatever I decide. If I walk out, will I return again tomorrow morning? Will she speak to me if I leave her now? I hear the text reminder again and swivel my chair toward the closed door. It could be Trini or Julie wanting to do lunch. If they said to meet at noon at Barbacoa, I'd be out of here in a flash. What if there was some news from Diane or Amanda. Possibly something needing my immediate attention. What if "X" happened? I think about my story and am torn between the two worlds. I want them both, and I want to run from them both. I look over my shoulder. The small clock on the computer reads 9:52 a.m. I turn back and realize, with the push of a button I can mask it all. The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying.
On some mornings the words come out faster than others. After three cups of coffee and a fourth in hand, I enter the story through the screen and stay there, my fingers being the only link between their world and mine. Sentences become pages as I share the great cast of characters who live with me there. I know them well and want to keep us together for as long as possible. My main character fascinates me, speaks to me, and together we set up her story. What if "X" happened? If "X" happened, then what if "X" happened. Over and over, I write the "X's," with her leading the way.
Often, I feel nervous, alone in the room with these new people, worried that I won't be able to tell their story. I sit at my desk and stare at the screen. It looks blurry and too big. Maybe I need glasses. My detachment from the story feels real, and I wonder if my characters have moved on. Have I taken up too much of their time? Has she waved goodbye for good - exited stage left? I hear the sparrows and the ringing in my right ear over the mechanical sounds of ocean waves. The 'ping' of a new text alert sounds from my iPhone in the bedroom.
I turn the noise machine off, and stand up, pulling the curtains apart. The morning opens up to me in a watercolored frame. The gray sky and rain keep me from running outdoors. I glance toward the front yard and see more green poking up from the ground. I can't forget to get mulch from Lowe's before the spring bulbs flower. I close the curtains and sit back down. For a time, I sit with my hands in my lap, looking around the small room. Many piles of books have taken over the space. Too many books for the small corner bookshelf. I begin thumbing through Beloved, a favorite read by Toni Morrison. I wonder if one day my characters will have their special world displayed on many pages between two hard covers. I feel a chill and put the book down.
I reach for my cardagin sweater, another necessity when the air cools and the coffee cup sits empty. Do I keep writing or call it quits? Should I go pour another cup of Starbucks? There are consequences to whatever I decide. If I walk out, will I return again tomorrow morning? Will she speak to me if I leave her now? I hear the text reminder again and swivel my chair toward the closed door. It could be Trini or Julie wanting to do lunch. If they said to meet at noon at Barbacoa, I'd be out of here in a flash. What if there was some news from Diane or Amanda. Possibly something needing my immediate attention. What if "X" happened? I think about my story and am torn between the two worlds. I want them both, and I want to run from them both. I look over my shoulder. The small clock on the computer reads 9:52 a.m. I turn back and realize, with the push of a button I can mask it all. The realization is both exhilarating and terrifying.
Mar 28, 2012
The Passive Voice
Writers know that using the passive voice can hurt writing. It might prevent the reader from gaining a clear understanding of the work. I eliminate the passive voice in my writing whenever possible, but not always. I notice my tendency to over use the passive voice. It takes a lot of focus and concentration to stop writing this way. I can't even begin to think of how many times I have used the passive voice without being unaware of it. Good writers need to kill the passive voice.
What is the passive voice? Any form of "to be." For example: Is, Are, Am, Was, Were, Has been, Have been, Will be, Will have been, Being, Been.
For example, instead of saying: "He was afraid," one should write "He feared," or better yet, "He trembled."
I have been struggling (there is is again - that passive voice!) during the past few weeks with the need to correct and edit my writing as I go. I keep reminding myself that it's not the end of the world (even though it is 2012), it's just that I want to get the story and the words exactly right, right away. It sure slows me down and makes it difficult to get the story out. Some mornings I would like to be a rebel and write only using the passive voice, using tons of adjectives and adverbs. Ha ha.
When I was quickly eating my breakfast cereal, I laughed hysterically until I was foaming from my lovely mouth. I was silently thinking about all of the times I had turned in completely awful writing, thinking it was incredibly good. I have been fooling myself all along, thinking I was an amazingly talented writer. Turns out, I have been sorely wrong and am deeply crushed.
;D
There. Got that out of the way. Off to write.
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