Jump to content

Author, Historian, Storyteller

Lowest Common Denominator

, , , Life, Voice, WritingView all 5 comments

I’ve been helping out a friend by rewriting some marketing materials for her book that is about to release. On the last go round, she questioned one of my word choices – miscreant – wondering if the “dumber crowd” will understand . . .

Two huge red flags began waving through my head like Enjolras on the barricade had gotten a hold of them. The first red flag was a biggie, the second was a pet peeve. So I asked her about the first and kept the second to myself. I asked her, “Who’s your demographic?” I realized that we had never had this conversation. From what I know of her book, I had come up with my own idea of her audience, which did not include the “dumber crowd.” So if she was indeed marketing to that group, then everything we had done needed to be reworked, not just that word. Her response to demographic could best be described as vague and all-encompassing. In other words, she had no idea. Needless to say, she has some homework to do before we pick back up.

LES MIZ

As for the second red flag, you all get to hear me rant about that. It drives me absolutely bonkers when writers, or anyone for that matter, play down to the lowest common denominator. That’s one of the problems with our society today. We’re so busy making sure everybody understands and fits in that we’re creating a bunch of lazy, half literate complaisants that think seriously is spelled srsly.

My children’s book, which is geared toward pre-k kids is written at a middle school grade level, and guess what? Kids love it, and I have yet to hear a complaint from parents that it’s too difficult. Why? Because kids like learning new things … especially when they rhyme. I won’t dumb down my writing for kids and I won’t do it for adults.

You wanna know why I have such a big vocabulary? Because when I hear or see a word that I don’t know I look it up and learn it. That simple! I know that people get embarrassed and feel stupid when they don’t know a word. However, not knowing the meaning of a word does not make you stupid, and if the person using that word treats you like you are if you ask them for a definition, then that’s on them. Quite frankly they’re probably treating you like that because they don’t really know the definition themselves, are using the word anyway, and you called them out on it, which they find embarrassing.

Admitting that you don’t know something does not make you stupid, nor should you be embarrassed by that. I refuse to dumb down my vocab or my writing so that others can feel like we’re on the same level. If you don’t understand what I’m saying, then we’re not on the same level. Just like I’m not on the same level as people using words or talking about concepts that I don’t know. NOT EVERYONE IS ON THE SAME LEVEL, AND JUST BECAUSE WE’RE NOT ON THE SAME LEVEL DOESN’T MEAN THAT I THINK YOU’RE STUPID!!! Become an active participant in your own education and maybe challenge yourself once in a while. I ask people to explain things all the time. I’m sure it gets really obnoxious because I don’t stop asking questions until I understand. Here’s the magical part, I never feel stupid when I’m asking these questions. I feel stupid when I go along pretending that I know something when in fact I don’t and then get caught.

Stupid is as stupid does, and I have definitely had my fair share of stupid moments. I will not apologize for my vocabulary or the things that I have taken the time to learn and I will not slow down so that you can keep up. I will answer questions til the cows come home and I will learn with you, but I will not slow down. I have often been called an elitist because of this attitude. Well, if that makes me an elitist then I guess I’m an elitist.

Stepping off soap box now.

soapbox

A Request to Parents

Fathers, Life, Love, Mothers, VoiceLeave a comment

My father sent me a framed picture he came across of my mother in her senior year of high school.  Looking at that photo a bittersweet melancholy fell over me.  She was so young with that spark of hopeful anticipation in her eyes.  She had her whole life in front of her.  Little did she know, she had already lived almost half of her life.  Little did she know, a disease would so drastically ravage her body and mind her children would never get to meet that woman in the photo.  At her funeral, I sat and listened to people talk about a vibrant, head-strong woman I didn’t know.

My mother didn’t get to see me graduate from college.  She was not there to tell me how proud she was when I won my Emmys.  I will not have the opportunity to ask her what she did for her something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue when I get married.  If I have kids, they will never be held by their grandmother.  However, these are not the things that brought about the melancholy while looking at her picture.  It was really much simpler than that.  The melancholy was caused by the fact that I don’t know my mother’s voice.  I don’t mean the actual sound of her voice, but her personality.  Was she sarcastic, was she witty, was she a straight shooter?  What were her dreams and aspirations for herself?  For me?

So to the mothers and fathers out there I have a request.  Write your children a letter.  Not on the computer, but by hand.  Write them a letter.  Tell them that you love them.  Tell them how proud you are of them.  Tell them of your hopes and aspirations for their success and happiness.  Tell them of your hopes and aspirations for your own success and happiness.  Tell them of your dreams.  If you haven’t achieved them yet, tell them that, but you’re working toward them.  Tell them your favorite music, movies, sports, board games.  Tell them the story of the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.  Tell them of the bravest thing you’ve ever done.  Tell them a joke.  Tell them of the things that are important to you.  It doesn’t matter what you tell them, just let them see your personality.  Let them see you.

I pray that the letter will never be needed.  That it will go unread tucked away and forgotten in some drawer.  But life is unexpected and sometimes all too short.  Give your children the opportunity to know you, whether through your actions or through your words.  Write your children a letter.  I wager it will turn into one of their most prized possessions.  Even if it doesn’t get to their hands until after you pass away peacefully in your sleep at the age of 100.

Love You Quote

Finding a Voice

Characters, Permission, Right vs Wrong, VoiceView all 3 comments

 

I have been writing for as long as I can remember, but it’s only recently that people have been telling me that they “love my voice.”  I took the compliments and felt honored by them, but didn’t really understand.  What was “my voice” and why was it only now coming through so strongly.  It wasn’t until I started to compare my work now to older work, and where and who I am now compared to times in the past, that I finally saw what people were talking about.  My writing has developed a personality all its own, a voice that yearns to tell the stories it hears kicking around in my head, and tell them in a way that highlights all of the things that I find significant.

 

Finding my voice as a writer was actually all about accepting who I am, all of who I am – the goofy, inappropriate, awkward, blunt, honest, atypical, exuberant, moody, defiant, stubborn, passionate whole – and giving myself permission to share that with the world.  I use the word permission very specifically because I had been taught from a young age; I think we are all taught, that we need to conform.  Don’t be so loud, don’t draw attention, don’t be weird . . . because heaven forbid someone should know that you’re an individual and have a personality.  Scary!

 

But this is what I was taught, so that is how I lived.  Being me was “wrong”.  Occasionally I would forget, but there was always someone there to shoosh me back into the box . . . where I was miserable.  I had no voice because I had no access to who I truly was, and with no voice I would get so frustrated that I couldn’t see straight.  I could see my inherent talents, and I could sense my inherent passions, but I was so focused on making sure that what I was doing was “right” that everything I did was wrong.  I knew it every second of every day, and knowing that I was wrong made me hesitant to use what voice I had because I was afraid of being rejected for the person that I didn’t want to be in the first place.

 

It wasn’t until I realized that I was spending all of my time and energy perfecting a person that I didn’t want to be that I finally started to reevaluate what exactly was so “wrong” with who I was.  I realized that there was nothing wrong with me.  What was wrong was that I had listened for so long to all of the people who insisted on pigeon holing me into what they perceived to be “right”.  It was then that I realized that I had no need for those people in my life.  I had no need for people who made me feel ashamed for living a life of passion and joy and risks.  There are people in this world who love me for living those ideals.  Those are the people that I needed in my life and it was with those people that I tested my real voice.  It was with those people that I learned to scream it to the rafters.  And when I was done, they weren’t cringing, embarrassed by my display.  They were smiling and laughing with me.

 

The next thing I knew, I was writing.  I was writing more than I ever had in my life, and I loved what I was writing.  I felt strong and courageous as I let my characters sweep me away in their story.  I bared my soul to them and they did the same in return.  They share with me their deepest, darkest desires and secrets and I try to honor them by being brave enough to put them down for all to read.  They live and breathe by my pen, and I live and breathe for them.  In creating them, I have found myself.  I have found my voice.

Beautiful Quote