The following is a short text exchange between me and my authorial sounding board.
me: I’ve had a diabolical thought
friend: What is that?
me: [REDACTED] may have to die at the end.
do you disagree?
friend: Of course I disagree!
I don’t want him to die!
me: i know.
i don’t want him to die either. this is just one possible ending.
me: but the diabolical part of me is like “Ha! You readers thought he was safe because i pretended to kill him before, but now he’s actually dead. You oughta see your faces!”
“mwhaha. haha. ha.”
“awwww. Bye, [REDACTED].”
friend: You are so damn mean
me: I AM
I had no idea there was a WordPress app. I am writing this to you from my tablet device, and it is particularly amusing to me.
I can even insert pictures!
You guys. I’m so dorky.
The following is a text conversation, word for word, between me and a friend. Context: I’d become distracted by video clips on YouTube.
Me: YouTube has a siren song and i keep getting drawn in to clips. I just binged on Hobbit interview clips.
Me: Lee Pace is constantly slouching to be in the shot with his costars. And all you ever see of his legs are these massive thighs, because the rest go out of the frame. it’s ridiculous. he makes himself as small as possible, and I want to hug him and tell him to sit up straight.
Me: …i realize i notice the weirdest shit about actors. Tom’s* hands. Lee’s thighs. The list goes on.
Me: Does that just make me detail oriented? that’s what i delude myself with.
Me: Ok good. I have decided that if I ever get the opportunity to interview lee pace in a group with shorter humans, I’m making the wee ones sit on phone books so the poor man can sit straight.
Friend: That would be very nice of you.
Me: Hahaha, I’m so considerate.
Thus ends our conversation. It occurs to me now that the conversation implies I think Mr. Pace has thunder thighs. That is not my intention. You have beautiful thighs, Lee.
Happy New Year, my doves!
It is not that I am silent.
Rather, my voice is missing.
It went out one day and never came back–
I am not sure if it is lost,
I only know that it is gone,
And I have no way to call it home.
Gouache and ink on watercolor paper.
Many people talk about how to find your “voice” as a writer. I always thought of it as something that was organic–the way you phrase your sentences, the variety of vocabulary you use, the rhythm of your words on paper, your written personality. It can be modified, or shaped, like a garden–you can add things or take them away. But I never thought of it was something you go out and find, almost like a shopping trip: Hey, there’s a voice I like–I’ll take that one!
I’ve been having trouble with mine, lately. Nothing I write sounds like me. Or at least, not the way I think I should sound. It’s not that my voice is changing or growing, it is simply that it isn’t there. I have ideas, boundless ideas, and can’t get them out on paper. It’s very strange.
So when, as a writer, your voice just…evaporates, what do you do? Has anyone else ever experienced this?
My hearts, I have made the decision to self-publish my novella, BOUND. And I’ve just launched a description of it on its own blog page, here.
Please check it out. I am currently researching cover art, and once I have a designer locked in, I will start making an official timeline for the release.
Tell your friends! Stay tuned!