More Psychobabble--This Time on Voice
So no shit, there I was today giving myself hell. Why? Well, that's simple. Because I'm the best at giving myself hell. I mean, really, think about it. Who knows me better than me? No one. Who knows all the right buttons to push in me? Me. Today was one of those classic man versus self kind of plots. You know the kind. Where the man or the self, as the case may be, has a lesson they desperately need to accept, learn, or recognize and the whole point of the battle is to NOT accept it, recognize it, or--god forbid--learn it.
The entire ordeal was excruciatingly annoying. So what was the 'battle' about? Voice. More specifically, my author writing in her natural voice. See, my author has this natural tendency to write, talk, and think in a slightly humorous way. She knows it. I know it. Folks who have critiqued her work either know it or suspect it. But life was getting in the way of her being able to slip into her natural voice to write the scene that she needs to write.
Life. Ah that wonderful thing that exists outside of her insane musings. It was downright depressing facing all the trials and tribulations that were infesting her usual perky, albeit slightly and occasionally skewed, perspective on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
So what happened to turn this writer's life into hell on earth today? It had to do with the kid and her missing kitten. We could not find the kitten. The little cutie who joined our chaotic household a mere two days ago was no where to be found and the kidlet was freaking. Melting down like you wouldn't believe. Okay, so maybe you would believe it. This crisis had me tearing the house part no less than four times--that doesn't count the path of destruction left behind the kid as she hunted for the lost kitty.
Finally, after missing the kitten for almost 10 hours, I get a toy the little bugger had once played with, show it to the dog who takes a deep sniff of it, and tell the pup to go find the kitten. Ten seconds later, my precious dog is in the kid's closet--which I had checked more than 6 times myself today--with her nose pressed into a corner piled with stuffed animals. Now, I have to admit that I never trained my dog to be a sniff out the enemy kind of dog, so I was rather disappointed when the pup went where she went. But, just as I was about to pivot on one knee to face the rest of my evening with a teary eyed, inconsolable kid, the Winnie the Pooh Bear in the closet growled.
First thought that ran through my head was that this was the beginning of a well planned ass whippin' from the karma gods, because I did watch that episode of Mad on Cartoon Network that had that episode called 'Pooh Grit' and I did laugh. A lot. Almost as hard as I did when I saw the infomercials on Mad about K-Stew and the Transforman Grill. But that's another story all together. Turns out the growl was the kitten, who had disguised herself as Pooh's Honey Pot (Don't say it. Just think it. And yeah, the call to the vet happens in the morning to push up that appointment.). So, in the end, all's well that started out crappy.
But what does that have to do with voice? And my battle with sinking down in to my author's natural voice? Everything and nothing. Turns out that after the kitten was rescued from Pooh's sticky clutches, all those involved in the search and rescue mission needed some one-on-one mama time that was chocked full of belly laughter. And some where in the middle of that round of insanity that happened in the playroom I ended up sitting there staring at my finger saying, I broke a nail... which naturally had the kid falling off the futon, landing on the floor, and literally rolling with laughter. To which I say (repeatedly, because I'm shocked that I broke a nail on a scratching post), "This is not funny. I broke a nail." The kid laughs harder, then finally tells me that she knows it isn't funny, but the way I say it... that's funny.
If you'd been in the playroom, then you would have seen me heave a great big sigh, look up, and acknowledge defeat. Because that was the lesson that I needed to recognize--dare I say, learn? Sigh.
See, everything happens for a reason. I fully believe that. And I had been struggling with getting in to the voice for this manuscript I'm working on. It's not that I don't get the characters. I do. But I was coming at writing this manuscript from a serious place. A solid, rock steady, serious state of mind. This is business. Writing is my business. It's my work, Grrr. To boot, we've all heard that work isn't fun. It's work and that's serious. Which may work just fine for accountants or police man or another occupation, but it doesn't work for me in write the damn manuscript mode. Because I can NOT connect to the words in my head like I need to when I'm serious. I have to be in a different mood--a fun mood. Doesn't mean I can't write serious stuff. Hell, I've written plenty of serious stuff when I'm in any kind of mood. But right now as I'm getting back in to the writing game... I've got to embrace the wacky, the zany, the playful, happy, laughing out loud sort of mood that lures my writer's natural voice out to play.
Now I've just got to figure out how to do that on a consistent basis. At will, even. Which reminds me, are there any other names that can be abbreviated other than William being abbreviated as Wm.?
And on that note, I'm off. ;o)
Take care and happy psychobabbling! I mean, writing!
~EK
The entire ordeal was excruciatingly annoying. So what was the 'battle' about? Voice. More specifically, my author writing in her natural voice. See, my author has this natural tendency to write, talk, and think in a slightly humorous way. She knows it. I know it. Folks who have critiqued her work either know it or suspect it. But life was getting in the way of her being able to slip into her natural voice to write the scene that she needs to write.
Life. Ah that wonderful thing that exists outside of her insane musings. It was downright depressing facing all the trials and tribulations that were infesting her usual perky, albeit slightly and occasionally skewed, perspective on life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
So what happened to turn this writer's life into hell on earth today? It had to do with the kid and her missing kitten. We could not find the kitten. The little cutie who joined our chaotic household a mere two days ago was no where to be found and the kidlet was freaking. Melting down like you wouldn't believe. Okay, so maybe you would believe it. This crisis had me tearing the house part no less than four times--that doesn't count the path of destruction left behind the kid as she hunted for the lost kitty.
Finally, after missing the kitten for almost 10 hours, I get a toy the little bugger had once played with, show it to the dog who takes a deep sniff of it, and tell the pup to go find the kitten. Ten seconds later, my precious dog is in the kid's closet--which I had checked more than 6 times myself today--with her nose pressed into a corner piled with stuffed animals. Now, I have to admit that I never trained my dog to be a sniff out the enemy kind of dog, so I was rather disappointed when the pup went where she went. But, just as I was about to pivot on one knee to face the rest of my evening with a teary eyed, inconsolable kid, the Winnie the Pooh Bear in the closet growled.
First thought that ran through my head was that this was the beginning of a well planned ass whippin' from the karma gods, because I did watch that episode of Mad on Cartoon Network that had that episode called 'Pooh Grit' and I did laugh. A lot. Almost as hard as I did when I saw the infomercials on Mad about K-Stew and the Transforman Grill. But that's another story all together. Turns out the growl was the kitten, who had disguised herself as Pooh's Honey Pot (Don't say it. Just think it. And yeah, the call to the vet happens in the morning to push up that appointment.). So, in the end, all's well that started out crappy.
But what does that have to do with voice? And my battle with sinking down in to my author's natural voice? Everything and nothing. Turns out that after the kitten was rescued from Pooh's sticky clutches, all those involved in the search and rescue mission needed some one-on-one mama time that was chocked full of belly laughter. And some where in the middle of that round of insanity that happened in the playroom I ended up sitting there staring at my finger saying, I broke a nail... which naturally had the kid falling off the futon, landing on the floor, and literally rolling with laughter. To which I say (repeatedly, because I'm shocked that I broke a nail on a scratching post), "This is not funny. I broke a nail." The kid laughs harder, then finally tells me that she knows it isn't funny, but the way I say it... that's funny.
If you'd been in the playroom, then you would have seen me heave a great big sigh, look up, and acknowledge defeat. Because that was the lesson that I needed to recognize--dare I say, learn? Sigh.
See, everything happens for a reason. I fully believe that. And I had been struggling with getting in to the voice for this manuscript I'm working on. It's not that I don't get the characters. I do. But I was coming at writing this manuscript from a serious place. A solid, rock steady, serious state of mind. This is business. Writing is my business. It's my work, Grrr. To boot, we've all heard that work isn't fun. It's work and that's serious. Which may work just fine for accountants or police man or another occupation, but it doesn't work for me in write the damn manuscript mode. Because I can NOT connect to the words in my head like I need to when I'm serious. I have to be in a different mood--a fun mood. Doesn't mean I can't write serious stuff. Hell, I've written plenty of serious stuff when I'm in any kind of mood. But right now as I'm getting back in to the writing game... I've got to embrace the wacky, the zany, the playful, happy, laughing out loud sort of mood that lures my writer's natural voice out to play.
Now I've just got to figure out how to do that on a consistent basis. At will, even. Which reminds me, are there any other names that can be abbreviated other than William being abbreviated as Wm.?
And on that note, I'm off. ;o)
Take care and happy psychobabbling! I mean, writing!
~EK
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