My blog reached a milestone the other day . . . 1,000 posts. Wow! Maybe I am prolific 🙂
So yesterday kinda turned into a bust day of recharging, spent mostly in my inbox just dealing. Did not get a lot done on my list . . . actually, didn’t even make the list.
Today I woke feeling more refreshed and rested, ready to get some stuff done. My alarm sounded at 6:30. Local radio. The voice of a girl I used to work with. And in my dreaming state I found myself back at the station flipping switches and pushing buttons, sweeping music up slowly under my voice. I could feel the ache in my back from that horrible rickety chair. I could maybe do radio again and actually enjoy it, if I had a good crew to work with.
Sunday morning at the Rodd I read part of one of my stories. Historically, I haven’t had much luck with voice control while reading my fiction. I can speak in public. I can emcee. I can perform in plays and read the news and voice-over ads. I can overcome the nerves most of the time . . . but there’s something about my fiction, it’s just too raw, too personal, too close to me, and I have trouble pulling off my big strong voice, finding the deep tones in the pit of my stomach. And those are the tones you need if you want a room to listen to what you’ve got to say, you can’t be high and squeaky.
Sunday morning I read part of my story. The lines came from a personal experience, although in the fiction there are different circumstances and the lines aren’t delivered with purposeful malice. The personal experience that was inspiration for that part was so much worse than the fictional experience. And yet, the fictional experience is still pretty bad. So basically I picked the most personally emotional part of the story for me and that’s what I read. And for one of the first times ever I had my voice, deep tones, controlled speed and pitch. There is hope for me yet.
I look at Elaine’s painting and I think Madness & Magic. That was the working title for my collection of short stories back in the day . . . hmm, yes, I do have a collection of short stories. I entered into the Richards Prize many, many years ago, when I first became involved in the WFNB. I got judges comments saying it didn’t work, some stories were strong, some weren’t. Later I found out only the best ones had been passed onto the judge, only a few of the most promising had received comments. At the time that wasn’t enough to squash the sting of the comments themselves. I hadn’t workshopped anything anywhere yet. So I put the idea of a collection out of my head, the stories weren’t good enough, they didn’t gel together. Bygones. I’ve learned a lot in the last 10 years or so . . . maybe the time has come to revisit a collection.
Listening To: sick side, nathan wiley
Hair: needing some tlc in a the worst freaking way