I have tons to say, but am unable to put it into words today.
Isn't that interesting?
It's as though I am just slightly off.
I've been listening to a song on repeat for a couple hours, hoping for some inspiration.
None has arrived. And so, this week, it seems, I leave you without any That Girl Tyson.
The song has put me in the oddest of moods. Part melancholy and part happiness.
Heart-breakingly beautiful.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Lazy Writing
When it comes to reading, I can overlook a lot of things. Adverbs don't bother me, not even when they are in speech tags. Sometimes I enjoy flowery prose. I can handle head hopping and even some plot holes. At times, I will even overlook cliches, because sometimes they fit better than explaining it a different way.
But there is one thing that irritates me to high hell and I can't look past.
Personal pronoun starts.
Don't think I'm dumb. Every book/novel/manuscript has them, but it's the amount of them that gets on my nerves. When I see a paragraph and five out of eight sentences start with: he, she, I, or a name, it makes me want to scream.
In my opinion, this is lazy writing. And it isn't necessary!
When I write, I try not to use more than one per paragraph. Yes, I actually make a conscious effort to do this. Why? Because I don't want a boring book. I want people to sink into my writing and not be yawing over all the things he/she are doing.
It's almost as though people don't know how many alternative ways there are to start a sentence. So, I'm going to help out and list ten other ways to do so:
1. Article - The girl sat on the bus.
2. Noun - Rain soaked through his jacket.
3. Interjection - Oh, he knew what he was doing.
4. Participial phrase - Running after her, he stumbled and fell.
5. Conjunction - Either she wanted to be with him or she didn't.
6. Adverb - Stubbornly, he crossed his arms.
7. Adjective - Upset over what had happened, he refused to speak to anyone.
8. Prepositional Phrase - At the top of the stairs, he turned around.
9. Infinitive Phrase - To pour out his soul to the woman he loved was his goal.
10. Gerund - Shouting was the only thing that worked.
These examples were written on the fly. Don't judge me on them.
I am not pedantic. Nor am I a grammar Nazi. To be honest, I'm not even all that picky. But Personal Pronoun starts are the bane of my existence. (That's a cliche!) Not only will adjusting how you start your sentence make your writing stronger, but it will also improve the readability of your novel. Oh, it also increases the fluidity of your narrative.
![]()
But there is one thing that irritates me to high hell and I can't look past.
Personal pronoun starts.
Don't think I'm dumb. Every book/novel/manuscript has them, but it's the amount of them that gets on my nerves. When I see a paragraph and five out of eight sentences start with: he, she, I, or a name, it makes me want to scream.
In my opinion, this is lazy writing. And it isn't necessary!
When I write, I try not to use more than one per paragraph. Yes, I actually make a conscious effort to do this. Why? Because I don't want a boring book. I want people to sink into my writing and not be yawing over all the things he/she are doing.
It's almost as though people don't know how many alternative ways there are to start a sentence. So, I'm going to help out and list ten other ways to do so:
1. Article - The girl sat on the bus.
2. Noun - Rain soaked through his jacket.
3. Interjection - Oh, he knew what he was doing.
4. Participial phrase - Running after her, he stumbled and fell.
5. Conjunction - Either she wanted to be with him or she didn't.
6. Adverb - Stubbornly, he crossed his arms.
7. Adjective - Upset over what had happened, he refused to speak to anyone.
8. Prepositional Phrase - At the top of the stairs, he turned around.
9. Infinitive Phrase - To pour out his soul to the woman he loved was his goal.
10. Gerund - Shouting was the only thing that worked.
These examples were written on the fly. Don't judge me on them.
I am not pedantic. Nor am I a grammar Nazi. To be honest, I'm not even all that picky. But Personal Pronoun starts are the bane of my existence. (That's a cliche!) Not only will adjusting how you start your sentence make your writing stronger, but it will also improve the readability of your novel. Oh, it also increases the fluidity of your narrative.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
No Faith
I don't work with children.
For some reason, I felt that needed to be stated before we continued. It's important for you to know that. It is. If you didn't know this tiny little fact then the rest of the blog might actually be lost on you.
Oh, I also don't work with people with special needs.
Although, it isn't lost on me that working with people with special needs would be more rewarding and, at times, easier than working with some of the people I interact with on a day-to-day basis.
Of course, I am not talking about certain individuals. No, I am casting a general net over the whole company.
None of them are special needs. Well, not that I know of.
So, there you have it. I do not work with children or people with special needs. Nor do I work with children with special needs.
To be blunt, I work with adults who drive to work, have children, function relatively easily, don't have to overcome too many hurdles when they get out of bed, and who, as a general rule, are able to understand the concept of personal hygiene.
Or so I thought.
Our place of employment has posted signs near every sink for our convenience.
They look like this:
![]()
Do you see why it was important to stress who I don't work with?
Children don't know how to wash their hands. Not adults.
But apparently, they don't.
I have absolutely no faith in people anymore. If they can't handle a simple task such as washing their hands then what else are they incapable of doing. Every time I look at these signs I feel a bit of rage rise up in the back of my throat.
You see, I learned how to wash my hand when I was about four years old. Granted, I wasn't the most diligent at that age, but I still understand the concept of getting my hands clean.
The really disturbing part of these posters popping up is that they make me wonder what happened to make the big guys in the fancy offices decide we need them? My mind rampages through all the possibilities.
Oh, the horror.
It leaves me positively disturbed, and only furthers my desire to, one day, be able to work from home, behind my little desk, weaving wonder tales in Microsoft Word.
At first I was surprised by this, but I really shouldn't have been. After all, we are talking about people who don't seem to understand the importance of flushing toilets. But that's a story for another time.
For some reason, I felt that needed to be stated before we continued. It's important for you to know that. It is. If you didn't know this tiny little fact then the rest of the blog might actually be lost on you.
Oh, I also don't work with people with special needs.
Although, it isn't lost on me that working with people with special needs would be more rewarding and, at times, easier than working with some of the people I interact with on a day-to-day basis.
Of course, I am not talking about certain individuals. No, I am casting a general net over the whole company.
None of them are special needs. Well, not that I know of.
So, there you have it. I do not work with children or people with special needs. Nor do I work with children with special needs.
To be blunt, I work with adults who drive to work, have children, function relatively easily, don't have to overcome too many hurdles when they get out of bed, and who, as a general rule, are able to understand the concept of personal hygiene.
Or so I thought.
Our place of employment has posted signs near every sink for our convenience.
They look like this:
Do you see why it was important to stress who I don't work with?
Children don't know how to wash their hands. Not adults.
But apparently, they don't.
I have absolutely no faith in people anymore. If they can't handle a simple task such as washing their hands then what else are they incapable of doing. Every time I look at these signs I feel a bit of rage rise up in the back of my throat.
You see, I learned how to wash my hand when I was about four years old. Granted, I wasn't the most diligent at that age, but I still understand the concept of getting my hands clean.
The really disturbing part of these posters popping up is that they make me wonder what happened to make the big guys in the fancy offices decide we need them? My mind rampages through all the possibilities.
Oh, the horror.
It leaves me positively disturbed, and only furthers my desire to, one day, be able to work from home, behind my little desk, weaving wonder tales in Microsoft Word.
At first I was surprised by this, but I really shouldn't have been. After all, we are talking about people who don't seem to understand the importance of flushing toilets. But that's a story for another time.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
All Worthwhile
Some days the Internet is too much to handle. It's too time consuming and I question what the point of it is.
Then someone swings by my Facebook page and posts a comment that makes it all worthwhile.
Thank you, M.M Bennetts.
![]()
I have yet to stop laughing.
Then someone swings by my Facebook page and posts a comment that makes it all worthwhile.
Thank you, M.M Bennetts.
I have yet to stop laughing.
♥
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Wary Romantic
Love.
For the most part, I scoff and shake my head. Sometimes I even throw in an eye-roll for good measure. My ex used to joke about me being unfeeling because I'd laugh at emotional scenes on television or in movies. It's not that I have a rock under my ribcage. It's because, to me, that love isn't real. It's forced. It's contrived. It's Hollywood's way of giving us unrealistic expectations.
Don't get me wrong. People can be loving and caring. People can make the 'grand gesture'. Women (and men) the world over get swept off their feet daily. People are content. Hell, people are even happy.
But from personal experience, from years of being not only an active participant but a silent observer, love is a hard thing to find and an even harder thing to hold on to.
The beginning. We love the beginning. If life could be filled with only the beginning of falling in love we would all be a lot happier. It's sweet. It's fun. It's romantic. Oh, so romantic. We are blinded by the other person, completely consumed by them. We would walk across broken glass to feel their fingers butterfly over our cheek. Things are easy.
And we make promises. Promises we can't keep. We tell them we will love them forever, that they're the only one for us, and we say will always be there for them.
Things change though. Times get harder. Hurdles are set up in our paths. We stumble, we fall, we reach out in hopes of being helped up and find ourselves grasping at only air. We come home grumpy. We let the stress of our jobs screw with the contents of our hearts. We draw ourselves a bath and hang our heads and cry.
And we start wondering what it is we are doing. We start wondering who the person lying next to us each night. Some of us will try to change them, to mould them into the person we need them to be and completely ignore the person they actually are. The person we fell in love with, the flaws that endeared us to them, are no longer good enough.
And the romance fades. For some reason, it always seems to be the first thing to go. Probably because we're too busy, too preoccupied, too consumed with some ridiculous reality television show on TLC. Then, one night, we are laying in bed next to the person we're supposed to love and this crushing feeling of being alone swallows us whole. You want to press yourself up against them, wake them up, and tell them you're lonely, that you just want to be held. But you don't, because you aren't sure how they would react to being roused from sleep.
Loneliness is hard to shake.
I know my ideas of love are skewed. I don't believe there is one person out there for me. I don't believe in true love. I don't believe in happily-ever-afters. And I certainly don't think love at first sight exists. I don't think we're destined to meet people. Even more so, I sincerely doubt whether or not I'm cut out to be in love. I don't function well in relationships.
But the simple truth is, I'm a hopeless romantic. Terribly so. I dream of all-consuming love. The love where you get lost in someone. A love where you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Where you know the person you're with and they know you. A love beyond words.
Lately, I've been feeling romantic. When a hush settles on the world and it feels as though every soul is sleeping, I entertain the 'what-ifs'. I imagine loving and being loved. It's not the countless days spent in bed that appeal to me. It's having someone in my corner, trusting they have my back when no one else seems to. Someone to count on, someone to appreciate, someone to laugh over the silly stuff with and cry over the sad things with. Someone to give to and someone to take from. Someone to respect. Someone to trust. And someone to kiss me properly.
We all have hurt, I'm not unique in mine. We've all been in love and had it crushed. Things fall apart. We grow and change, and sometimes the person we're with doesn't grow and change with us. Sometimes we have to leave behind the ones we love in order to be happy, no matter how much it hurts at the time. Most of us have baggage, and all of us know heartache. I'm not alone in how I feel. Love is hard. Love is messed up. At times it isn't pretty. At times it isn't easy. And sometimes it's so painful we wonder why we even do it.
Despite all of that, we keep looking for it and we try and try again. Why? Because being in love is the best feeling in the world. We'd rather have a moment of love than not experience it at all. And besides, there's always that question tickling the back of our minds. What if?
See, I'm not bitter or uncaring. I'm not jaded. I'm not angry or sad or hard or broken.
I'm just a wary romantic.
![]()
For the most part, I scoff and shake my head. Sometimes I even throw in an eye-roll for good measure. My ex used to joke about me being unfeeling because I'd laugh at emotional scenes on television or in movies. It's not that I have a rock under my ribcage. It's because, to me, that love isn't real. It's forced. It's contrived. It's Hollywood's way of giving us unrealistic expectations.
Don't get me wrong. People can be loving and caring. People can make the 'grand gesture'. Women (and men) the world over get swept off their feet daily. People are content. Hell, people are even happy.
But from personal experience, from years of being not only an active participant but a silent observer, love is a hard thing to find and an even harder thing to hold on to.
The beginning. We love the beginning. If life could be filled with only the beginning of falling in love we would all be a lot happier. It's sweet. It's fun. It's romantic. Oh, so romantic. We are blinded by the other person, completely consumed by them. We would walk across broken glass to feel their fingers butterfly over our cheek. Things are easy.
And we make promises. Promises we can't keep. We tell them we will love them forever, that they're the only one for us, and we say will always be there for them.
Things change though. Times get harder. Hurdles are set up in our paths. We stumble, we fall, we reach out in hopes of being helped up and find ourselves grasping at only air. We come home grumpy. We let the stress of our jobs screw with the contents of our hearts. We draw ourselves a bath and hang our heads and cry.
And we start wondering what it is we are doing. We start wondering who the person lying next to us each night. Some of us will try to change them, to mould them into the person we need them to be and completely ignore the person they actually are. The person we fell in love with, the flaws that endeared us to them, are no longer good enough.
And the romance fades. For some reason, it always seems to be the first thing to go. Probably because we're too busy, too preoccupied, too consumed with some ridiculous reality television show on TLC. Then, one night, we are laying in bed next to the person we're supposed to love and this crushing feeling of being alone swallows us whole. You want to press yourself up against them, wake them up, and tell them you're lonely, that you just want to be held. But you don't, because you aren't sure how they would react to being roused from sleep.
Loneliness is hard to shake.
I know my ideas of love are skewed. I don't believe there is one person out there for me. I don't believe in true love. I don't believe in happily-ever-afters. And I certainly don't think love at first sight exists. I don't think we're destined to meet people. Even more so, I sincerely doubt whether or not I'm cut out to be in love. I don't function well in relationships.
But the simple truth is, I'm a hopeless romantic. Terribly so. I dream of all-consuming love. The love where you get lost in someone. A love where you wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Where you know the person you're with and they know you. A love beyond words.
Lately, I've been feeling romantic. When a hush settles on the world and it feels as though every soul is sleeping, I entertain the 'what-ifs'. I imagine loving and being loved. It's not the countless days spent in bed that appeal to me. It's having someone in my corner, trusting they have my back when no one else seems to. Someone to count on, someone to appreciate, someone to laugh over the silly stuff with and cry over the sad things with. Someone to give to and someone to take from. Someone to respect. Someone to trust. And someone to kiss me properly.
We all have hurt, I'm not unique in mine. We've all been in love and had it crushed. Things fall apart. We grow and change, and sometimes the person we're with doesn't grow and change with us. Sometimes we have to leave behind the ones we love in order to be happy, no matter how much it hurts at the time. Most of us have baggage, and all of us know heartache. I'm not alone in how I feel. Love is hard. Love is messed up. At times it isn't pretty. At times it isn't easy. And sometimes it's so painful we wonder why we even do it.
Despite all of that, we keep looking for it and we try and try again. Why? Because being in love is the best feeling in the world. We'd rather have a moment of love than not experience it at all. And besides, there's always that question tickling the back of our minds. What if?
See, I'm not bitter or uncaring. I'm not jaded. I'm not angry or sad or hard or broken.
I'm just a wary romantic.
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