A Discussion on Writing Long Sentences

I was thinking about the issue of reading long sentences. I even see sentences so long one sentence takes up an entire paragraph. This always bothered me; even in reading books and such, so I want to write/talk about it. Not just from a newspaper standpoint but in regular reading, too.

But I don't want to sound like I'm being ignorant or insulting to other writers. I want to promote ease of reading and understand. (Consider: The longer the sentence, the harder to understand the point.)

Is it because writers think long sentences make them seem smart or do they just get rambling? (I’m guilty of rambling.) Yes, I know in college theses and such, it is appropriate to write long, convoluted sentences. I sometimes wonder if the intent is to purposely confuse the reader to somehow prove how intelligent the writer is.

Do people write like they think and/or speak? I know if I wrote every word my brain was thinking, I'd be going on and on and on. When my brain is on fire and I’m thinking too much, sometimes I lose track of my original thought processes and the words get all turned around in my head.

Also, the brain and actual speech don't provide punctuation or proper grammar which is needed for the written word. I always say, “You can’t write like you talk,” unless you’re writing dialogue. Speech does ramble but the written word needs grammatical breaks for comprehension.

Or is it because writers don't think about making the story easily readable? They're just busy telling/writing the story. My writing often makes perfect sense to me, but in the re-reading/editing, I start catching things which don’t make good sense. And sometimes I don’t catch some of these things and another editor or proofreader picks them out. Or maybe I’m just getting old, and my brain doesn’t comprehend as quickly.

Whatever the case, all I know is if I need to keep going back and reading the sentence over from its start because I lose track of what’s really being said, I get bored and will tend to skip sections.

‘Course, I can’t do this when I’m editing for the newspaper, so I have to keep going back and re-reading. I figure, too, if I get confused, will other readers be confused? (I was told from the start when I began with the InterTown Record to write like I’m writing for eighth graders. Not because people aren’t intelligent, but because it makes it easier and quicker to read.)

So, the question is, do you want your writing to be easily read and understood? I’m sure everyone does. And no, most who write, don’t have to write for eighth graders unless they’re purposely writing a children’s book, but it’s important to write easily understandable passages.

Sometimes you want your writing to raise questions, but is it to question the meaning/confusion of the writing or is it about letting the topic inspire the brain to question things? Does the writing stir emotions? Does it want you to ask more, to know what happens next? Does it make you wonder about things you were taught to believe growing up as to whether that information is true?

I vaguely remember some rule years ago about putting in a comma where you’d take a breath (along with many rules about commas). However, too many commas, too many conjunctives in one sentence makes the sentence lose meaning.

Just a few thoughts in my quest to live wholeheartedly. To live whole heartedly is not only learning lessons for myself but to also share information and discoveries. If something I experience can help someone else be better at whatever they need, then that’s always a good thing.

Being Manipulated

I feel I’m being hounded and manipulated these days. I ordered five new tops yesterday and within an hour, I had multiple emails from four places offering discounts if I order more within the next five days.

And what is it about memberships? I feel not only being manipulated but herded. Grocery stores and gas stations are now among businesses promoting membership to receive rewards and discounts. Join this. Join that. Become a member. Sign up for… Hey, I have other things I’d rather do than “join” all kinds of retail memberships.

And if these places are offering all these benefits, do they raise their prices to everyone else. Are they making that much profit they can offer discounts to certain “valued members?” Does this make their customer service better? (Customer service, another term still used but has fallen by the wayside.)

It almost makes me feel by becoming a member to some of these things, my choices of where to go and where to shop become limited -- if I want to keep getting these wonderful (yeah, right) rewards. Sure, maybe I could save money here and there, but I don’t like this manipulation. I don’t want to have to shop at a particular place because I’m a “member.” I don’t like being forced to participate. (At least it feels that way to me.) And I don’t need to be a member of stores or businesses. I shop places I like. Why do I need to become a member? To prove my loyalty (really?) to a business?

Oh, I know the psychology behind it, and I refuse to play the game. I won’t buy (pun intended) into it. Marketing ploys annoy me. I feel they sucker people in. I see through the pretty words and promises. People believe what they’re told. They follow that “herd ‘em in” mentality. I refuse. While I still can, I want to think for myself (that doesn’t mean I won’t listen to suggestions when I’m indecisive.)

But this is just me. I know there are many out there who jump on the bandwagons, and that’s fine for them. Me, I walk my own paths. I have always avoided what the masses are doing. This is another aspect of how I’m choosing to live wholeheartedly.

Dressing for At-Home Success

Every night lately, when I pull clothes out of the closet for the next day, I realize how ratty they’re looking. My clothes are old. The material of my tops is worn and “pilly,” and some items are stained. The elastic on the waistbands of my pants is wearing through and inseams are getting thin.

I’m not ascetically good looking, but I can still look nice in my attire, which is important for my state of mind. I don’t want to feel I look like a bum sitting here. I may not get company, go off much, or see people, but I don’t need to dress like a slob, either.

I won’t wear clothes dictated by latest fashion trends.  I dress for my body type, age, and shape. I dress for comfort and ease of movement. There’s something about looking nice that makes me feel better about myself. I don’t need to dress fancy, just have tidy-looking clothes. Even in the evening when I change into a gown, it’s a beautiful, flowy piece which feels good to wear, especially the summery colorful ones. 

It’s hard to justify the purchase of new clothes when old ones are still wearable, especially when I’m a stay-at-home woman. Perhaps, though, in these times when I easily fall into sadness, it’s important to do something to bring my spirits up. Perhaps updating my wardrobe will help staying at and working from home remain a success. 

Also, maintaining a good, positive mental attitude is important in my goal to live wholeheartedly, and if a couple of new tops will help my overall wellbeing, then it’s all good.

So, I did.  

 

Second Day on 'Waiting for Attention'

In between editing stints, I worked on Miss Pele. The pastels I used were Senneliers, Yarka, and Rembrandt with CarbOthello pencils for details.

First, I added some rusty color to the background which will match some of her calico-cat color, then I added more color to her back fur using gray and two shades of the yellowish-brown color.

I made the ears smaller which is a big improvement. The hardest part was getting rid of the lines from the previously sketched-in ear shapes, but I finally managed.

In the end, I brought in more white using some pencil and some Sennelier, but I wasn’t happy with the day’s work and questioned why I bothered trying to do her. I’m just not able to capture her expression and create the look I want.

However, this is still a work in progress. I have to remember, too, working on Colourfix paper with its texture is different than working on the smooth BFK Rives. Also, this is only the second time I’ve attempted to paint Pele, so I suppose I should give myself some slack.

PS: I went in the studio to get the notes I’d written earlier and ended up narrowing the right upper side of her face (left side of painting). I added more of a yellow-green to her eyes, too. And, after the initial not liking of today’s work, it is an improvement from the other day.

Time and Energy Wasted in Indecisiveness

Ironically, the days I need to wear my editing hat are the days the creative muses are most active. I weigh the choices – do I do my art first or the newspaper work?

 “Do me first!” my creative muse cries.

“No, do the deadline work first!” my logical, responsible mind demands.

And it’s a standoff between them with me being mentally torn. My fear is I’ll be behind with the editing if I do my artwork first. Then I make mistakes when I hurry to finish the editing on time.

I waste a lot of time trying to make decisions. The indecisiveness is time spent doing neither when I could be using that time in doing actual work, whether it’s editing or painting. The overthinking is also a drain on my energy.

In a way, it’s not about work time. There is enough time to do both (at least on Fridays and Saturdays. On Sundays, I do need to do the newspaper first.) It’s about my own thought processes and allowing myself to get stuck on a what-to-do spiral. If I wait to do the newspaper work, it’ll still be on my mind. All the while I’m painting, the editing work will be knocking at the edges of my focus and disrupting my concentration.

“Oh, look what we can do with these colors,” the muses whisper enticingly. “Let’s try this angle with the painting.”

“Come work on me,” the editing calls. “You have to get this done in time.”

Yet, those days I go in the studio first, I do feel much better. When I don’t, the muses continue knocking awhile, but eventually fade away and might not return soon. If I don’t give them attention when they are here, they’ll go give their inspiration to someone else.

The lesson: Don’t hem and haw. Don’t use up precious time in worrying about which to do. Make a decision and go with it. Choose one! Jump in! There’s time to do other later.

Starting Another Pastel Painting

 

"Waiting for Attention," 8 1/2 x 12 inches on black Colourfix paper using various pastels. Back in November, I originally did a light tracing to get the general shape and eye placements. 

What drew me: The look in her eyes I haven’t yet found words to describe. Her little face pulls my heartstrings. I just want to scoop her up and cuddle her. I’m drawn to the glint in her eyes, the roundness of the pupil and iris. Her face is so full of expressions sometimes.

After a couple days of not feeling well, I wanted to paint, and decided to tackle this Pele painting. I taped the paper to the drafting table and sat to work.

For once I started with the focal point – her face – with white Rembrandt, then a black CarbOthello pencil, white, green, and a rusty color.

The eyes are a challenge. Even with a sharpened pencil, sometimes I struggle to know exactly where the point is when I touch it to the paper. And, looking at the inspiration photo, doesn’t make it easy.

How can I trace a few outlines and still not have the composition right? Will it fill out once I get all the fur done? I’ve already made the ears smaller, and they still look too big.

The black background of the paper needed some texture, so I used black Sennelier and pan pastels to add layers. I’m not quite sure yet what I want to do with the background.

Next I added black, gray, and some rust-color to her body. I’ll need to do a lot more body work before I finish the face. I only hope I can create that pointy-look face of hers.

I’m still not sure about working on papers with a rough surface. The pastel eats up and just falls off.

This is the photo I'm using for inspiration: 

Contemplating Calling 'Stretch of Autumn' Done

 

Pastel work done on "Stretch of Autumn" on March 10 and 11. Debating whether to call it done. I've not signed it yet.

There's a lot of detail and colors in the autumn grasses.

Almost Done 'Winter on The Hill'

Work continues on "Winter on The Hill," various pastels on BFK Rives paper, 8 1/2 x 14 1/2. 

March 10: I went at this one again, mostly working on the big trees. I’m having trouble getting the right color. I added more branches.

I’d like to think I’m almost done, but the trees and rocks need a little more work. 

March 11: I sat down to this again and worked the big trees and the rocks. I think I liked yesterday’s rocks better.

I’m about ready to call it done, but not yet as I see something to fix.

 

Choosing to be a Unique Individual Isn’t Easy

I started reading "Go Ask Alice" by Anonymous. It's by an anonymous because it's the diary of a 15-year-old girl who became a drug addict and overdosed when she was 16. Oh, my, her beginning, her teen angst... could've been written by me in my younger years! She was able to put into words what I couldn't have dared at that age. 

It was interesting to read how she first started taking drugs and how wonderful it made her feel. She was hooked right from the very first time. Reading her description of what it was like... doesn't sound enjoyable or fun to me! And it seems those who get that high spend the rest of their lives craving and chasing after that feeling again.

I suppose I could've easily fallen into drugs... I was so miserable when I was young, so unhappy, no real friends, hated myself... all the signs that get young people sucked in. I felt no one liked me, I was a weirdo, never felt I did anything right in others’ eyes, etc.

What made it harder for me was intelligence put me in classes with all the popular kids. All the girls who had it together, had parents who bought them fancy, in-style clothes. Girls who had cute boys ask them to school dances. Girls who sat together in the cafeteria while I ate alone. Girls who followed me between classes talking about me loud enough for me to hear their ridicule.

I more fit in with Janis Ian’s song, “At 17.” She could’ve written that whole song about me especially the line “… girls with ravaged faces, lacking in the social graces…” because I never felt I was even close to being pretty or good looking.

I remember one time trying to fit in. I think it was eighth grade. In the locker room after gym, I remember the girls throwing bars of soap and laughing at the one girl who was more ridiculed than I. I joined in trying to fit in and be like them so they would like me.

Immediately, I felt such shame! I couldn’t believe I participated. I felt horrible… and never talked about it. I wanted to apologize but was afraid to be seen talking to her. Yet, even today, I remember that girl. I remember her name and what she looked like. (I don’t remember the names of the other girls.) I knew where she lived – in a dumpy trailer. I wondered if she even had running water because she always smelled. I felt bad for her and was ashamed to have acted like those other girls.

I suppose I should have been “ripe” to fall into the drug scene, but I didn’t and couldn’t. Was it because of when and where I went to school drugs weren’t readily available? I don’t really know. Was it because no one personally introduced me to drugs?

Well, I was offered speed once, right after Bill left me, but that was after I was an adult. Something inside told me/wouldn't let me, though. Gosh, I would've been more tempted to commit suicide than take drugs! 

It’s just something I never wanted to give myself over to. From the first of hearing about drugs, there was something within me that felt it was selling your soul to the devil. I knew it was giving your life totally over to someone (dealer) or something (the drugs) which would consume your whole life. And I had no desire to fall into that trap.

Plus, besides my mum, who I would never do that to, I've always felt I've had an inner protector. Maybe it's God or a Divine Presence, but drugs and even tobacco were never things I wanted to do. There's something inside me that screams, "No way!"

OK, I have and do partake of alcohol, but I've never been able to drink a lot. My body rebels. I either get a horrible headache, fall asleep (or, when I was younger, puke all over the place after I'd been out with friends). Even today one or two drinks is enough.

I think about how and why I was different. Maybe part of it had to do with being real. I wasn’t aware of that term back then, nor did I even know who the "real" me was, just that it wasn't what everyone else was. Self-medicating through substances (and again, here's terminology now which I didn't know then), just felt wrong to me. Even with legal tobacco, just the thought of sucking that stuff into my lungs felt wrong, even though almost everyone smoked back then. I won't say I never put my lips to a cigarette, but only to be "cool" and I didn't inhale.

OK, I did inhale when I tried pot a few times when I was an adult -- and didn't like it AT ALL! I didn't like the feeling of not having control of my body and mind. I don't like feeling buzzy -- like what's the difference between buzzy good and light-headed buzzy just before you get sick? It felt the same to me. I just knew I couldn't/shouldn't do it even though everyone else I was with was doing it. (This was when I was living with Harold.)

I've always had that thing in me where I didn't want to be doing exactly what everyone else was doing. 'Course, at the time, I felt there was something wrong with me because I didn't want to be like them. Hey, aren't we supposed to try to be like others? No, we're not all the same and we don’t have to be!

What would it be like (or have been like) to be celebrated for wanting to be different, for being an individual, instead of feeling shamed or ridiculed for not following everyone else? Choosing a less-trodden path makes for a more solitary life, that’s for sure, especially living in an area where I didn’t know anyone who liked the things I did.

I think, too, about the parental side. I think most kids go through thinking their parents don’t understand them or will even listen to them. Especially back when I was younger. Parents told kids what to do, what was expected from them. There wasn’t any talking back, no questioning.

But I suppose I can see a downside for parents. Don't parents want their kids to fit in? It makes parenting easier, in a way. Fit everyone into a box designed by the parents and teachers. Isn’t that what being good is supposed to be? And a kid who's an individual could require more attention... something which adults might not have time for. So many gray areas.

It’s funny how growing older allows us to view life differently. How often people say, “If I knew back then what I know now…” Life might have been easier if we understood more in our younger days. If we really knew what was important in life. But, too, maybe life is about the journey between there and here, and the decisions made to get us to this point bring us a greater understanding about all life.

Progress on The Hill in Winter Painting

 

Painting had been put on hold as I revamped the studio. I bought a small artist’s drafting table so I can do some sit-down pastel painting. That meant re-organizing one half the room… and more.

This morning I ordered other supplies to better organize and I have to wait on those deliveries before continuing the reorganizing. So, with that project on hold, I decided to get back to painting.

I sat in the new chair and tackled the painting. Most of the work was with the horizon trees. I used Senneliers for softness, pencils for sharper lines, Rembrandts for other lines, and NuPastel for the birch trees. I added played around with the foreground tree and added black to the rocks just to hint at what’s to come. 

The painting is currently 8 1/2 x 14 1/2 on BFK Rives paper. 

Context or Intent

Brene Brown posted this quote which set my wheels a-spinning:

“Toxic positivity is forced, false positivity. It may sound innocuous on the surface, but when you share something difficult with someone and they insist that you turn it into a positive, what they’re really saying is, ‘My comfort is more important than your reality.’”  -- Dr. Susan David, author of “Emotional Agility.”

Two trains of thoughts immediately ran through my mind. One was, yes, I’ve had that happen to me often when I’ve tried to talk various issues. The second was wondering how often I have done that to others. Maybe … but I don’t think so and hope not … because I’ve too often been on that receiving end.

For instance, I’ve brought up topics with someone before and received those words which felt, to me, like a brush off. “Think positive” can be a good reminder, but sometimes it feels more like a polite term for other, more snappy retorts such as “Get over it!” “Move on!” “Grow up!” “You’re too sensitive!” “Don’t take it so personal!” (Can you tell I’ve heard all that in the past?) In other words, comments that make it feel like the person I’m talking to doesn’t really care. Or they offer all kinds of advice trying to “fix” me because they see me as not being good enough or not living up to their expectations.

 (Yes, I know we all have issues and sometimes we don’t want to hear about someone else’s.)

 I don’t expect someone else to solve my problems or tell me what to do, but I’m the type of person who believes being able to talk things over with another person helps me decide what’s best for me. They may offer suggestions I’d not considered, or just a simple comment, whether it’s something I agree with or not, could help me to choose a direction. Often just talking out loud or writing to someone helps me find my own way.

And sometimes being told to “Think positively” IS a needed reminder if we start wallowing in negative or sliding into a little self-pity. Those two simple words could be all it takes to get us to crawl out of whatever hole we’ve fallen in. Yeah, I’ve been there, too. Sometimes life can be horribly overwhelming, and we need words of encouragement.

And maybe sometimes we want to offer kind words to others but don’t really know what to say. As much as I consider myself a word person, there are times when I can’t think of anything to say. I’ve had times when I’ve tried to say something supportive and it’s come out sounding lame.

Life throws us curveballs and we need to deal with the not-so-good to help us become stronger. We can’t get through life without challenges. A kind word and someone’s caring voice can give us a needed boost to pick ourselves up. So how can we offer kindness and support. How can we offer words to uplift others when they’re feeling down?

How do we know the difference when someone is well-meaning or just trying to brush us off? Sometimes I’ve heard words that sounded nice, but the intent (almost the feel of a sneer) was more on the line of an insult. Did the speaker mean it that way? Perhaps not. The speaker or writer could have been well-intentioned, but for some reason, I felt it as an insult.

“Think positively” are two simple words supposed to help us, but is that how we always hear it? When someone says those two words, do they really mean it or are they just trying to shut us up? When we say it to someone, we wish them well, but could we also be giving off the vibe we don’t have time to deal with their… whatever?

I’ll admit, there are days when nothing anybody can say will make me feel better. There are days when I’m just going to be ornery, cranky, and sad – until I decide not to be or tell myself, “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

It’s all about context and intent. It’s important to think positively as much as we can. It’s also a conscious choice to make and it isn’t always easy.

I think about those times when I am wallowing in my aloneness and reach out to tell my story, hoping for a few words of encouragement, to know someone is really listening to me.

I try to return the favor when others call me. I try to listen and offer advice or suggestions. It doesn’t matter if they take my advice. My goal is to show them I’m hearing their tale and my intent with my words is to give them another point of view to hopefully help them figure out how to resolve whatever it is they’re struggling with.

What’s important is a dialogue. It’s not just about me whining about some issue and someone else suggesting what I should do. It’s back and forth. It’s being able to also say, “I hear you. I’ve been there, too,” or “I’ve had similar situations and I…” That doesn’t mean my scenario is the same as what others experienced, but we have enough similarities that we can understand one another. Sometimes all we need is to know we’re not so alone in how we feel or what we’re experiencing.