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How do you read? An essay on voice translation (and book reviews)

Is it just me, or does everyone read a book in what we imagine is the voice of the character? When I’m reading a novel, I find myself speaking not only in the voice of the characters, but also in their dialect, even in the pace of the characters. Often I’ll catch myself adopting their language when I’m in the middle of a meeting at work. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve had to “shake myself awake” and talk like my own self. It can be embarrassing! But I suppose that’s what I get for having my nose in a book every moment of my spare time. It’s a fair assessment to say I’m addicted to reading.

Always reading is not a bad thing; in fact I recommend it for everyone. However, I do advise reading only one book at a time. Recently I read three books at once – I’d read a few chapters of one, set it aside and pick up another, set it aside and pick up another, and back and forth and back and forth. When not only the subject matter but also – especially – the voice of the books are as different as conversing with a 17-year-old and conversing with a 2-year-old….well, I advise setting one of the two or three aside until the first is finished. That said, here are my thoughts on those three books I recently read: The Woman in Black, by Susan Hill, The Dovekeepers, by Alice Hoffman, and Book of Dreams, by Jack Kerouac.

The Woman in Black, by Susan Hill  ~ Rated 5 (click here to go to my bookshelf where you’ll find the definition of my rating system)

The Woman in Black

Not only is The Woman in Black a good ghost story, but it’s also one of the best written books ever, and the last line is classic, undoubtedly the most memorable, and effective, ending of any book I’ve ever read. I read this one in what I imagined was a British voice, or at least European, because that is the style of language it was written in. The best aspect of this book is the suspense. Susan Hill is a master at keeping her readers turning the page. (Writers would do themselves a great favor by studying this story.)

The Dovekeepers, by Alice Hoffman  ~ Rated 4.5

The Dovekeepers

I imagine Alice Hoffman to be the student who could sit through an all-day lecture without blinking. So it is with her new novel, The Dovekeepers. The description of the story itself begins “…a tour de force of imagination and research…” And that it is. If you’re interested in the history of the Bible, specifically the fall of Zion, you’re in for a treat. That is, if you commit yourself to the time it takes to read the book. Although The Dovekeepers does turn out to be a fascinating story, I did have difficulty staying with it throughout the first part, where one of the four women we learn about patiently tells the story of her family’s trek through the dessert after their village is flushed out by the Romans. That trek is long and filled with strife. Upon their arrival at what was once King Herod’s palace we soon hear the next part of the story from the perspective of the baker’s wife, another woman who’s family was forced from their village, and the pace begins to pick up, if only a bit. But The Dovekeepers is not one you’d want to rush through, so the pacing, though at times irritatingly slow, is exactly as it should be. This is one you’ll definitely want to read – just make sure you set aside a couple of weeks to do so, (and don’t try to read something else at the same time). Considering the story took Alice Hoffman five years to write, the least we can offer is to take two weeks to read it as it should be read, with affection and thoughtfully.

Book of Dreams, by Jack Kerouac  ~ Rated 5

Book of Dreams

Trying to read Jack Kerouac at the same time as Alice Hoffman is like trying to stop to smell the coffee when you’re already late for work. As I mentioned, I’ve always read at the pace the characters’ voices take on in my head (at least well-written books). Whereas Alice Hoffman feels like a relaxed person, soothing even, Kerouac feels to me like he was a man of great urgency, like he was always twitching a pencil in his fingers, bouncing his feet around, moving, moving, moving, like maybe he had ADHD or something. Such is the feeling when reading his Book of Dreams. Every writer needs to read this treasure of art! The book is exactly what it claims – Kerouac’s journal of dreams – and you can’t help but read it quickly, at the pace he sets in all his work, but then there are moments when a “bright revelation” is recorded and you automatically stop yourself and realize that sentence was to be read thoughtfully. So you read it again, and again, and again; if you’re like me, you’ll write that sentence down in your Quotes Journal, and maybe even tack it to your Inspiration Wall. Kerouac’s Book of Dreams is a must read for all writers, the perfect tool of inspiration to stop worrying about what you’re writing and…just write.

How about you? Do you tend to read in the voice of the character? Do you read at the pace the writer has exuded, or do you read every book in the same manner, at the same speed, in your own voice, or in a voice you’ve subconsciously deemed as your reading voice?

P.S. While gathering links for this post I came upon a great piece of news – the movie, Kill Your Darlings, about the roots of the beat generation is in pre-production, expected to be released next year. This is one movie I’ll definitely go see without book in hand! :)

Click here to browse my bookshelf where you’ll find reviews of most books I’ve read this year, as well as links to 2011’s and 2010’s reads).

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Click here to visit my fiction site, The Other Side of Deanna.

 

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You and Your Muse

First, a special Thank You Very Much to Elizabeth of Elizabeth’s Ramblings – you know what for. :)

It’s a given that we “creative types” each have a muse, defined by The Free Dictionary as a guiding spirit or a source of inspiration; I define the muse as that elusive second personality that comes and goes on a whim to give us stories, ideas, characters, and on and on. But I wonder: what does your muse look like, what does he (or she) act like?

I’m no psychologist, but I’d be willing to bet that the characteristics – both physical and mental –of our muse reflects either who we’ve always wanted to be or who we’ve believed we truly are since childhood, maybe both. Now, this is a rather scary thought for me as my muse is a snot-nosed, bratty little tweenage boy named Frankie (read Frankie’s interview with me on my fiction site, The Other Side of Deanna, here)…. Does that mean that deep in my soul I’m truly a snot-nosed little brat? Did I, at some point in my life, want to be a boy? And does my straw-like red hair really stick out all over my head like that? Do my freckles shine like mud-colored fireflies, leaving me exposed for all to see in the deepest dark of the night? Dear Lord, let’s hope not!

Frankie, Deanna's Muse

Frankie the muse looks much like Norman Rockwell's "Boy Writing a Letter"

 

It’s funny though, how I’ve always imagined that shadow of mine acts like that little monster, and looks like it too. I can even see the evil gleam in his beady stone-colored eyes when he gets one of his bright ideas. That look can sometimes be downright scary! It can also be a lot of fun. I find that, when Frankie does get that certain look, I want nothing more than to latch onto his side, hang on tight and zoom down the road on an adventure with him. When I allow myself to think, (probably too deeply), about who Frankie really is I can easily see my seven-year-old self in him, as if I were gazing into a mirror over my shoulder. I remember my parents’ friends saying of me, “You can see the devil in those eyes” or they’d make some comment about little girls with dimples being the devils’ right hand, (I have a deep dimple in each cheek).

I’m not sure what I did to upset Frankie so, but I hadn’t seen him in a while….then yesterday, when I read Elizabeth’s fun post That dam muse! right there he was, trying his best to hide from me, still. But his freckles, and his bright green eyes gleamed through the dark and I caught him! It may have only been for a few minutes, but it was so great to see him again. I hope he comes back soon!

How about you? What does your muse look like and act like? Can you see yourself at some particular age in him, or her? I’m anxious to hear what you think of this theory.

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Click here to visit my fiction site, The Other Side of Deanna.

 

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Revelation after 40: What I drive DOES matter!

Mama always said I’m just like my daddy, and I am continuously discovering that’s true in more ways than one. Not only is Daddy so interested in vehicles that his yard sometimes looks like a used car lot, but he’s always been a rambler…..

Driving my two week rental car up to the lake on a gorgeous denim sky day, with the Black Crowes serenading me about Seeing Things for The First Time, I was suddenly assaulted by memories of driving my first dream car up the very same road twenty years earlier.

At 18-years-old I was determined to have the best car my waitressing wages could afford me. In my mind that was a Toyota Celica. And so I pocketed every quarter and puttered about town in the Ford Escort my parents had surprised me with one Saturday afternoon, (along with the payment book), surreptitiously passing by the only car lots that sold brand-spanking new Toyotas, pretending it was indeed the sporty black convertible Celica under the control of my young hands. (And let me tell you, considering it was actually a Ford Escort under my butt, that took some heavy imagination!). Finally, within a couple of years, and after – literally – driving the Escort into the ground, (it had to be pushed into the lot at the end), I signed up to pay a ridiculous number of dollars a month to drive the car I wanted to drive. And it was worth every penny.

It wasn’t a convertible, but the sleek Celica did have a sunroof, and together we rambled up and down the east coast, and all along the back roads of east Tennessee and southwest Virginia for the next thirteen years. That beautiful car saw me through more good times – and bad – than I could possibly recall. But one memory that stands vividly in my mind is taking my new car up to the gorgeous autumnal scenery of South Holston Lake and snapping photo after photo after photo of her beauty. Her name was Mrs. Gonzalez, (Speedy’s wife), and I loved her.

Deanna and her Celica

Mrs. Gonzalez and me - this picture was taken the weekend my boyfriend proposed to me. And yes, that's me with the glasses bigger than my waistline!

It wasn’t until the first year of my marriage [to the greatest man alive] that I had to relinquish my dream car for a Jeep Cherokee instead – Mrs. Gonzalez was a straight shift and it goes without saying she was small. At 27-years-old I was enormously with child. My ridiculously large belly would not fit behind the wheel any longer. So my husband and I traded vehicles – he drove Mrs. Gonzalez while I drove the Jeep, (I don’t even recall the Jeep’s name so obviously I didn’t cherish it nearly as much). Over the next few years I hauled my baby around in the Jeep while a second grew inside me, then I hauled the two of them around in the Jeep until the day I slid backwards down our steep driveway, unable to control the vehicle on the two inches of ice that covered everything. Fortunately, both my mom and my dad had long ago taught me how to steer correctly when in such a situation and I ended up against a telephone pole in our side yard, rather than in the road only twenty yards away. Getting myself and my 2-year-old and infant out of the Jeep in three feet of snow and ice was an adventure in itself.

Realizing the danger of carting myself and my two other little lives in the Jeep, we traded it in for a van. All the while my husband had the pleasure of driving Mrs. Gonzalez, then ten years old. Yes, I got to take her out now and then alone – when we needed groceries – but our days of rambling the southeastern United States were over. Once it became obvious we’d need two vehicles the boys could safely travel in we had to trade Mrs. Gonzalez for a family car.

I’ll never forget that day. As I gathered the last of the CDs and loose change out of my precious Celica my vision blurred from the tears that had started to leak. When I took the cross Daddy had given me the day I moved to Miami of all places from the rear-view mirror I cried like a baby. Memories flashed through my mind as if I were dying. I pulled out of the lot in my new Pontiac Grand Am, nearly hitting the exit gate because I couldn’t tear my gaze away from Mrs. Gonzalez, so heartbroken I was to be leaving a good friend behind.

The Pontiac – Layla – has been good to me for the most part, but no vehicle will ever mean what Mrs. Gonzalez did. Now, I’m cruising around in this muscled Dodge Charger as Layla undergoes surgery for the hail damage she endured last spring, being reminded of all the joy Mrs. Gonzalez brought me. And I’m loving it.

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What kind of writer do I want to be? What about you?

typewriter

Image by Deanna Schrayer

There are many excuses I could yank out of my hat for not being faithful to The Life of a Working Writer Mommy: too much work, two very active children, daylight savings time kicked me in the butt – blah, blah, blah…but the truth is I’ve just been lazy. (However, I’d like to partially redeem myself by saying I have been writing, just not blog posts.)

Since it’s well past time to amend this betrayal, I’d like to thank Estrella Azul and Judy Clement Wall for the super inspiration for this post: What kind of writer do you want to be? Read Estrella’s post, The Kind of Writer Who here, and Judy’s post, What kind of writer do you want to be? on Fear of Writing, here.

All of us writers have been asked, and hopefully answered, Why do you write? [Read my essay, There are stories to be told, here.] But how many of us have explored what kind of writer we want to be? I imagine some, (probably several), writers would say: “ I want to be a published, rich and successful writer.” Well, that just doesn’t cut it; it’s not an answer to this wonderful question that deserves thoughtful consideration which develops straight from the heart.

That said, I want to be the kind of writer who:

  • Tells stories for those people in my life who speak freely and easily but loathe picking up a pen.
  • Doesn’t just skim the surface of a topic but rather digs deep, even when it hurts, to find the truth, and tell it.
  • Improves my storytelling ability with each stroke of the pen.
  • Discovers something about myself I may have either overlooked, hidden, or didn’t even know before writing that first sentence.
  • Generates generosity in others.
  • Touches someone’s heart, even if it’s only one person.

What about you? What kind of writer do you want to be?

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Click here to visit my fiction site, The Other Side of Deanna.

 

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