Originally posted on Lisa Lanser Rose: Sometimes when working on a personal essay or memoir we flood the engine of our prose. We’re trying hard to be as authentic, accurate, and open as possible, and so include everything remotely significant, and the forward momentum stalls under the weight. In revision, techniques from the art of fiction can goad the pace. Here are…
We sat on the ground around a low wooden table waiting for the day to begin. It was overcast, threatening rain and the ger was dim, throwing everything into monochrome. A pot of boiling milk sat on top of a battered wood-burning stove in the center of the room and I watched as steam rose […]
A look at bloggers and photographers who document the disappearing traces of everyday 20th-century life.
I love books. This is mostly due to my over active imagination. That one central item to my psyche that I have been told, time and time again, is too creative allows me freedom. Freedom to create my own scenes, elaborate on colors, manipulate the environments, design my own hero and heroine, orchestrate the fights, manhandle the villains, land on my own world and a plethora of other mind altering experiences. All of this, I can get from books. I love books.
I love movies. There are times that a date night is in the works. Maybe a get together with the girl friends, or an evening with my best friend (my husband-like how I plugged that?), or a moment to myself and a nice hunk on the screen (that earlier comment was to keep me out of the dog house). I can suspend my dis-belief long enough to enjoy a movie, some will leave me wanting more. A few are just enough when it is finished. A lot are the same old, same old. All serve their purpose. A trip to the unconscious. I mean to say, the thinking has been done for me. The set designed, the characters formed, and all the imagination provided for me.
That is why I love to write. I can dictate the specifics of each individual and every experience. I take pride in leading the reader into the trouble forming or the fury building. Sometimes, when it can be strengthened, I will change it, the outcome being bigger and better.
I believe there are times for movies and books. Books take longer than the two hours of digitized glory passing before me on the screen, but they are by far my favorite. You could say I have a problem. When I get into a book, I succumb to addiction. I have to consume every word, sometimes re-reading passages that were put together so eloquently and elaborately, I could feel the scene. I struggle to pull myself from its pages (yes, those wonderful smelling bendable items) or my eReader (yes, I happen to have a romance with my eReader, it is very good to me). If they form a Readers Anonymous in my area, my husband may sign me up.
I hope I am not alone in my passion for books!
The OUCH heard around the world! Kindle pulled from Target. Start of a ripple? Will it grow to a WAVE? http://ow.ly/aGUqG
Cold and chilling outside. Awaiting dawn to chase away the fear that has set in my soul. The nightmare woke me. My room is dark. Can’t stop.
I can’t wait for the snow! At least it will make the freezing cold weather a little more worth it.
Now when I walk outside a freezer full of ice cubes plummet down my throat. It would not be so bad with the white fluff flying. The white flakes flinging. The snow angels twirling–not to mention the skiing.
The ski season is slow to come and the skiers are looking to the hills with longing in their eyes and memories in their hearts.
Soon, friends, soon.