Sigh. Poor neglected little blog sitting here all by its lonesome, wishing for some attention from me.
Well. Looks like I have some time for you baby. My corporate gig has ended and I have a summer of writing and publishing ahead of me (also taking on some paid editing gigs to help with the transition -- email me if you have need and want a price quote).
I love shoplifting, but have gotten away from posting my lifts here -- Facebook is just too easy to use right from a smart phone, I guess, and Blogger is not.
I love talking and writing about writing and the writing life, but I have let myself get so busy that I have forgotten what it's like to reflect and analyze and muse.
In any case, blogging can be a great part of the overall marketing platform for writers and has come up so often in the last few weeks that, FINE, OKAY, I'll get back to it.
In light of that, here's an article about blogging for authors -- let me know if you have any thoughts on this topic.
As for me, I'll be trying to figure out what the hell I will post about later this week......
Showing posts with label Eavesdropping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eavesdropping. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 25, 2013
Saturday, August 22, 2009
But what does it mean in Colombian Slang?
I, Deb Courtney, went out last night. As a fairly extreme example of an extravert, Going Out is a thing I am wont to do, and fairly frequently too. I get cranky when Not Enough Out is had.
It all started innocently enough, with some great music at Venue 515 (for samples of what I heard, visit www.myspace.com/charliemilomusic and www.myspace.com/jeremyfacknitz with a little www.myspace.com/njdavey tossed in for a bit of spice). Venue 515 is a great multi-function art/music space in Manitou Springs, and it was their grand opening (can you say free food and wine???).
It was perfectly lovely, though a bit smallish and acoustically not quite right for the great tunes, but I was all about listening to the music until I overheard a not-quite-heated argument behind me. Of course, I had to listen -- two older very caucasian women pretentiously arguing the meaning of a Spanish word, which I have forgotten except inasmuch as neither one was pronouncing it correctly.
Finally, one drew herself up and pronounced very dramatically, "Well, at least in Argentinian slang it means that. Now, I need more wine."
Out came my notebook. I can't begin to say where I will use that bit of wordfoolery, but it begs to be used. And I really wish I could remember what word they were aguing over.
Off to venue number two for the evening, which included a firepit, several large bouncers, an ambulance, and an arrest (no it wasn't me, sigh), where a friend started a conversation thusly:
"So my friend Ani, the narcoleptic librarian from Twin Falls, Idaho? Blah blah blah..."
I didn't bother listening to the rest of the thought as I was busy scribbling in my notebook. Again. And wondering about librarians who fall asleep at the reference desk and in the stacks and what story could be written with this amazing character who had just been dropped into my lap.
Maybe Ani knows what the word really meant in Argentinian slang, but I bet she falls asleep before she can tell me.
The final snippet: "That's just what I said, only with more syllables." (said to me by a friend while eating dinner at the Hornet in Denver)
It all started innocently enough, with some great music at Venue 515 (for samples of what I heard, visit www.myspace.com/charliemilomusic and www.myspace.com/jeremyfacknitz with a little www.myspace.com/njdavey tossed in for a bit of spice). Venue 515 is a great multi-function art/music space in Manitou Springs, and it was their grand opening (can you say free food and wine???).
It was perfectly lovely, though a bit smallish and acoustically not quite right for the great tunes, but I was all about listening to the music until I overheard a not-quite-heated argument behind me. Of course, I had to listen -- two older very caucasian women pretentiously arguing the meaning of a Spanish word, which I have forgotten except inasmuch as neither one was pronouncing it correctly.
Finally, one drew herself up and pronounced very dramatically, "Well, at least in Argentinian slang it means that. Now, I need more wine."
Out came my notebook. I can't begin to say where I will use that bit of wordfoolery, but it begs to be used. And I really wish I could remember what word they were aguing over.
Off to venue number two for the evening, which included a firepit, several large bouncers, an ambulance, and an arrest (no it wasn't me, sigh), where a friend started a conversation thusly:
"So my friend Ani, the narcoleptic librarian from Twin Falls, Idaho? Blah blah blah..."
I didn't bother listening to the rest of the thought as I was busy scribbling in my notebook. Again. And wondering about librarians who fall asleep at the reference desk and in the stacks and what story could be written with this amazing character who had just been dropped into my lap.
Maybe Ani knows what the word really meant in Argentinian slang, but I bet she falls asleep before she can tell me.
The final snippet: "That's just what I said, only with more syllables." (said to me by a friend while eating dinner at the Hornet in Denver)
Thursday, August 20, 2009
Eavesdropping for Fun and Profit
“There's nothing like eavesdropping to show you that the world outside your head is different from the world inside your head”
~~Thornton Wilder quotes
"And that's why I am single," ranted the aesthetically unpleasing hawk-faced woman, concluding what must have been a grand rant on the flaws of men, in a booming, masculine voice, shaking her head vehemently.
I wanted to run to her, to explain that whatever the contents of her rant had been, I could likely give her five legitimate reasons why she is single, none of which have anything to do with others, all of which had to do with herself, and all of which are likely fixable. (Hubris, anyone?)
But I didn't. I was eavesdropping, and one of the top rules of eavesdropping, after Do Not Get Caught is Do Not Engage.
As a writer, I am fascinated at the things people say in public, things which other people can hear. Sometimes I wonder if the speaker(s) are aware that they can be heard, or if they care. I tend to be loud when speaking and am sure I amuse people with that which falls unexpectedly out of my mouth, but on some level I am aware of this, and rarely ever say anything which I might find embarassing later. But some of the things I overhear....
Here's the thing: I steal that which I overhear. All the time. I scribble things down in a notebook, or if one is not handy, make a note in my cell phone as a reminder Not To Forget Funny Thing Heard At Coffee Shop. Sometimes these things show back up in stories I write, though not always in the same exact form.
In my cell phone notes right now, in fact, are two items said directly to me by a friend, to which I replied "I'm stealing that," and promptly wrote them down. I am happy my friends indulge me in this trait, which has been dubbed Conversational Shoplifting, by yet another pal, from whom I have lifted many interesting phrases, including the title for this blog.
Two stories I am currently working on, "Fate is an Alpha Chick" and "Dora Garcia Dreams" both started with phrases overheard -- that which I overheard served as inspiration for plot and character.
I find eavesdropping to be integral to my process as a writer, regardless of the fact that it is considered to be rude by many. I refuse to apologize for where the muse drags me. And the muse brought me to the Single Lady, who will likely show up in a story in the near future, in which I will likely be able as the writer to say all the things to her which I could not as eavesdropper.
What is integral to your process?
The final snippet: "You'll never guess what I got to smell!" (Overheard at Marlowe's on the 16th Street Mall in Denver)
~~Thornton Wilder quotes
"And that's why I am single," ranted the aesthetically unpleasing hawk-faced woman, concluding what must have been a grand rant on the flaws of men, in a booming, masculine voice, shaking her head vehemently.
I wanted to run to her, to explain that whatever the contents of her rant had been, I could likely give her five legitimate reasons why she is single, none of which have anything to do with others, all of which had to do with herself, and all of which are likely fixable. (Hubris, anyone?)
But I didn't. I was eavesdropping, and one of the top rules of eavesdropping, after Do Not Get Caught is Do Not Engage.
As a writer, I am fascinated at the things people say in public, things which other people can hear. Sometimes I wonder if the speaker(s) are aware that they can be heard, or if they care. I tend to be loud when speaking and am sure I amuse people with that which falls unexpectedly out of my mouth, but on some level I am aware of this, and rarely ever say anything which I might find embarassing later. But some of the things I overhear....
Here's the thing: I steal that which I overhear. All the time. I scribble things down in a notebook, or if one is not handy, make a note in my cell phone as a reminder Not To Forget Funny Thing Heard At Coffee Shop. Sometimes these things show back up in stories I write, though not always in the same exact form.
In my cell phone notes right now, in fact, are two items said directly to me by a friend, to which I replied "I'm stealing that," and promptly wrote them down. I am happy my friends indulge me in this trait, which has been dubbed Conversational Shoplifting, by yet another pal, from whom I have lifted many interesting phrases, including the title for this blog.
Two stories I am currently working on, "Fate is an Alpha Chick" and "Dora Garcia Dreams" both started with phrases overheard -- that which I overheard served as inspiration for plot and character.
I find eavesdropping to be integral to my process as a writer, regardless of the fact that it is considered to be rude by many. I refuse to apologize for where the muse drags me. And the muse brought me to the Single Lady, who will likely show up in a story in the near future, in which I will likely be able as the writer to say all the things to her which I could not as eavesdropper.
What is integral to your process?
The final snippet: "You'll never guess what I got to smell!" (Overheard at Marlowe's on the 16th Street Mall in Denver)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)