Tag: writing

Uncategorized

When A Picture Isn’t Worth a Thousand Words

Sondra Jennings

As I was brewing my coffee this morning, a rich peppermint mocha blend that isn’t “in season” but that I was in the mood for, I found myself wishing that I could take a picture of how it smells. I don’t have the words to describe how delectable the aroma filling my kitchen was.

That’s where I struggle the most as a writer. I want to be able to describe the scene so the reader feels as if they were there. The smells, the sounds, the feel of the breeze or the sun or the rain on your skin. I can take pictures with my camera, but they don’t tell you the whole story. Good writers draw a picture with their words. And I want to get better at that. To do that, I think a person has to experience it and then write about it. 

Yesterday my friend and I went to the lake to look at the sailboats. She had never been, I had been once before. I had taken pictures once before. When we got out of the car, it felt like I was experiencing it for the first time. I had forgotten the sounds at the marina. You can’t hear them in photographs. If you had been around sailboats or marinas I suppose you could draw on your memories, but for those of us who haven’t had a lot of exposure, the sounds and smells are just as wonderful as the sights. The geese squawking. The bell clanging. The water lapping the shore. A fish jumping in the distance.

You can’t feel the stillness of the heron perched for it’s catch. Or the deer grazing in the meadow, never taking his eyes off you. 

It’s true, video can help you experience those things. But what about the smells? I don’t even know how to begin to describe the smell of the lake. Or the clean air in the middle of nowhere. 

What about the feel of the sprinkles hitting your nose? Or the crisp, cool breeze chilling your skin?

How do you experience all of that in a photograph?

The truth is, you can’t, unless you allow yourself to pull from memories you might have stored. But if you don’t have those memories, it’s hard to fully know the experience. It’s not the same as being there. Cliche, but true. All the photos and the words in the world can’t replace experiencing something first-hand. 

By all means, continue to read books, look at photos, watch videos, take “virtual tours”, but most of all, get out there and experience it for yourself! Adventure awaits! And take a friend along to share it with!

Uncategorized

Dreaming

Sondra Jennings

I’m up early today. Not as early as I should have been because I wanted to get some writing done this morning, but I did manage to get around at a pretty good clip, so that helped. Then when I was grabbing my flash drive to save to (I always do this just in case I want to write where there is no wifi—I like the peaceful country setting) I saw my mom’s flash drive setting on the table and remembered that I was supposed to download some pictures on there for her. I did that, and now my fingers don’t seem to want to type as fast as I’d like them to.

Another “perk” from cancer treatment is that sometimes now I can’t spell to save my life. That’s huge for me because I used to be amazing at spelling, and now I’m not. And sometimes I lose my words. I know what I want to say, but can’t think of the word I need. I’d say that chemo brain and what it does to you has been the hardest struggle of this whole journey for me.

Anyway, I wanted to write this morning. I had an urge to do it last night, but not until I laid down in bed and I knew that if I got out of bed and started it last night, I would never go to sleep and it would be impossible to get up for work this morning. So I told myself I would make time for it in the morning and I went to sleep instead.

I don’t know what I want to write about. Something. Everything. That’s the pull on a writer’s soul. You want to write about absolutely everything. Big things. Small things. A writer can write a whole chapter on the tiniest of details. Not me…I can’t do that yet. I’d like to do that, but my brain doesn’t analyze like that quite yet. I’m rolling an idea over in my head this morning of taking a creative writing course. I hate homework, though, so that’s what is holding me back at present. I love to write, but I love to write what I want and not what someone tells me I need to write. And certainly not on someone else’s timeframe. I work a full-time job as a preschool teacher…some days I don’t have any words left by the time I get home. I don’t want to be graded on that.

But surely there is something out there that I could do to hone my skills at creative writing. A “club” or something online…

There goes my alarm telling me that it’s time to feed the animals and get my butt in gear. I dream of the day when I can sit here as long as I want, crafting a story that people can’t wait to be released, much like the new John Grisham novel that just showed up in my Kindle library this morning…

motivation

Monday Motivation

Sondra Jennings

It’s Monday morning. Again. But it’s not any ordinary Monday morning because today I got up early to write. I’m sitting in a dark, empty cemetery, watching the sun come up and writing. Sounds morbid, I guess, but also very motivating.

It’s motivating because no matter how long you live, life is short. Even if you get 100 years, which is good by today’s standards in the US, it’s still too short to do, see, and be all the things that you want to do, see, and be. And if you have idle years where you are just coasting through, well, it’s even shorter.

I’ve done that. So many years I have done that. I have been that girl just coasting through. I haven’t done what I wanted to do or gone where I wanted to go. And I am nowhere near who I want to be. So many times, I’ve settled because going for what I really wanted seemed hard. It seemed risky, and I’ve never been good with risks.
But this morning I woke up early because I’m ready to take a risk.

Ever since I learned to read, I’ve wanted to be a writer. It’s documented in yearbooks and other memory books from my childhood. When someone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said “writer” (after the brief time in my early life when I said “singer”). It’s why I paid attention in English class. Because, let’s face it, why else would you pay attention in English class? It’s why I love to read. I’m not just reading for pleasure, I’m researching for what I want to do with my life. I’ve put a lot of effort into this thing already, but then I just let it set idle. Why would I do that?

Because I was scared. Even in this day of blogs and the internet and self-publishing and all the other ways to get my stuff out there, I was scared to do it. It was too hard and too risky and so I just didn’t. I went to work as a preschool teacher every day instead. Which, by the way, is one of the riskiest things a person could do with their life. There are tears and snot and mysterious wetness and weird smells that come from these little people. And they have no filter. They tell you exactly what they think and they don’t feel bad about it. Risky business.

So this morning, I woke up early to write before work because I’m safe. I can do this. I’m sitting in the dark cemetery because it reminds me how short life is and it motivates me to start doing and going and being me. If you could ask the people whose lives these headstones represent what they regret from their lives, I think the most popular answer would be that they regret what they didn’t do more than what they did.
I could be wrong, but what if I’m not?

–Sondra