The Voices in my HeadWhat Right Have I?
October 28th 2006 00:35
She leaned against the doorframe, looking out into the yard. Her faded cotton gown, the blue one that was practically threadbare in places was clinging to her petite body. The sunlight played against the shadows of her body as she absentmindedly rubbed her left leg against her right shin. Her fingers were intertwined in the waterfall of blonde hair. She wound a strand of hair around her fingers as though she were twirling a baton. Her face made the perfect playground for newborn rays of light from the early morning sun. To those who did not know her well, she looked happy.
The truth was that she was miserable. All she knew, in fact, was that there was a vacancy, a cold uninhabited place of her being that grew larger everyday...as though it grew powerful from acknowledgment and evicted happiness elsewhere in her mind. Tears slipped out from under her lashes. She knew that if she could change things, if she could go back and undo and reconstruct the past, she would.
In the house, up the stairs, and down the hallway, there were three people who needed her and loved her. She smiled at the thought of them, her gifts from the gods that be. Just then, an alarm clock went off in one of the bedrooms. And as she did every morning, she wiped the tears and pushed the thought of Australia and all that waited there out of her mind. She forgot about pages of words left unwritten. She went back into the kitchen and began making breakfast.
Her life and her happiness didn't seem all that important when compared to making a single tear fall from their eyes. Her dreams were not worth the salt in their tears.
The truth was that she was miserable. All she knew, in fact, was that there was a vacancy, a cold uninhabited place of her being that grew larger everyday...as though it grew powerful from acknowledgment and evicted happiness elsewhere in her mind. Tears slipped out from under her lashes. She knew that if she could change things, if she could go back and undo and reconstruct the past, she would.
In the house, up the stairs, and down the hallway, there were three people who needed her and loved her. She smiled at the thought of them, her gifts from the gods that be. Just then, an alarm clock went off in one of the bedrooms. And as she did every morning, she wiped the tears and pushed the thought of Australia and all that waited there out of her mind. She forgot about pages of words left unwritten. She went back into the kitchen and began making breakfast.
Her life and her happiness didn't seem all that important when compared to making a single tear fall from their eyes. Her dreams were not worth the salt in their tears.
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Comment by Wendi
Nicely done.
W
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
I have often said that my writing, the weakness in it, is that I will have one or two worthwhile sentences out of the whole thing. The strength in it, is that I will have one or two really worthwhile sentences. :c) I am working on this but thank you so much for the feedback and the compliment.
Come back,
Voices~
Comment by Wendi
Here's a neat game I've been known to play with myself when my muse is on temporary leave of absence: I go through all my old pieces and extract from them my favorite lines, then weave them together to create a completely different piece. The results might not be masterpieces, but it's good for the ego when I come across those lines that make me say to myself, "Wow, I wrote that? That's killer!"
For what it's worth, I think you're on the right track!
Best Wishes,
W
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
Now that is an idea...how interesting that would be! I am always coming up with these quotes, it would be neat to see if I could tie them altogether. A new post may be coming soon... *smile*
Come back,
Voices~
Comment by Homer Joyce
I’ve already told you what I think of this piece in private …
I’ve been reading your correspondence with Wendi …
My favourite line is: Her face made the perfect playground for newborn rays of light …
In relation to what you are both discussing, as in, great or ‘killer’ lines …
This is where I think poetry is invaluable … it teaches us to tighten our prose …
Often a poem is constructed out of one ‘killer’ line … (but it is the application by the writer to what is in that one line that makes all the difference … being able to weave a continuous thread of one or two thoughts through the entire poem) …
And it can be done with prose … it just means 99% perspiration and 1% inspiration …
I’ll see if I can explain …
If I have written a line I am happy with … I will analyse and dissect that one line (conduct a post mortem on it, if you like) … I will look for certain things, and then incorporate them into the remaining prose (or poem) …
Let me take the example of my favourite line in your prose …
the imagery and metaphors are of newborns (or children), sunlight and playgrounds …
Overall the prose is about false happiness (misery, even), the desire to turn back time, change things, and yet resignation to not being able to …
So what I will do, is take all of those components and see if I can ‘spruce up’ the piece to incorporate those ideas … and that means paying attention to every single sentence, and every single word.
I will always strive as a writer to make every word and every sentence be 100%. If I aim high and not settle for mediocrity, I may not achieve 100% but I will never be mediocre … If I aim for mediocrity, however, I am bound to be awful, atrocious …
So I will look at another line, such as ‘a cold uninhabited place of her being that grew larger everyday’
Don't get me wrong here. I love that line ... I'm inside you just reading it ... (not in that way! ... in that cold uninhabited space ...
And I will think of how that line relates to children and playgrounds and sunshine, misery, change etc … and by doing that I will come up with images of vacant winter playgrounds ..
And I might arrive at something like:
The truth was, she was miserable. As miserable as a forlon child looking through a barbed-wire fence at a vacant winter playground undergoing renovation …
And I will work on that one single sentence until it is as perfect as I can get it … rather than move onto something else out of frustration ….
And that’s enough raving now …
I’ll go back to tightening my own work …
Homer …
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
I see what you mean...again, the pupil thanks the master and studiously goes back to work...Not that it is an excuse, I wrote this very quickly. I take some sort of odd pleasure out of seeing it posted and then reading it as if for the first time and making improvements to it at that point. However, and this is where my frustration comes in...I would not have thought to add the line about the child and the playground.
I will work on my metaphors and see what I can come up with...
Thank you again, as always, my poetic lover...well, of course I meant that you are a lover of poems...I really must work on this weakness...
Do come back,
Voices~
Comment by Lilla
From The Home Front
Enviro Warrior
Dream Herald
Esoteric Bookshop
I'm no expert and all analysis aside, I really liked this piece. I think you captured a moment in time here, weak or otherwise and in that moment I related, as would so many who had shared a moment of indecision.
Very human, very nice, it made me want to read on ...
Lilla.
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
Thank you so much for that. Sometimes for a writer, or at least this is true of myself, I struggle to make something vivid, or I struggle to capture the imagery, whatever it is, I want to make it a collective experience. Sometimes, I think you have to let go of that and just write the piece with the hope that it captures that experience for someone, and not necessarily everyone who reads it, and be okay with that. I tried to let go of all of that, and discipline the piece to just be what I wanted it to be, rather than the other way around. *smile*
Again, thank you, and do come back,
Voices~
Comment by Moonbeam
Excellent piece. I too loved the line that Wendi refers to. The piece describes feelings, a rawness, emotion, & a place where every woman (& perhaps a few men), have been, @ some point in their lives. I'm so glad you're doing this; it allows u the freedom to go to the playground of your mind & speak of places you've been inside yourself, without judgement or recriminations. Again, I salute u!
Moonbeam
Comment by The Voices in my Head
The Voices in my Head
My entire life has been spent in the pursuit to not feel a certain way, to believe a certain thing, to do the 'right' thing. That is no longer the case and now I am free to write from my emotions...it has been liberating. Thank you for commenting. It means a lot to me...in ways you cannot imagine.
Come back,
Voices~