Writers take pen in hand and write on paper - or they key their words on a computer screen. Then the words are there in black and white right where they belong. But sometimes we as writers forget the realm of words intersects our daily lives. Words kept on paper alone lead a solitary existence when they are meant to be spoken and brought to life.
Too often we focus on punctuation and the placement of periods in our writing - picayune stuff - when we need to focus on the life of the writing. Two things jump out at me when thinking about this.
ONE: I was helping to judge a poetry contest this past summer and the main judge was (rightly) being critical of form and eliminating poetry that wasn't up to snuff. At one point there was a disagreement about a piece of writing and I suggested that since the winning entry was to be read out loud that we read the final selections aloud and find out how they sounded when spoken. We forget sometimes that our ears will also judge. What looks good on paper sometimes just doesn't make the grade when spoken.
TWO: I recently shared one of my more recent poems with a poet friend ( who absolutely adores her thesaurus) and being helpful, she suggested that since my poem was "ethereal" (her word, of course), I should substitute the word 'clothed' for 'attired'. I thoughtfully considered that, but in the end decided to use the common word I originally had. In my opinion, the spoken word 'attired' sounded too much like 'tired' and made me think 'worn out and exhausted'. It also has a hard sound to it. Most often words with T's, D's and K's, when spoken, have harder sounds to them. The softer sounding words have W's, H's, L's, TH's, R's, and SH's.
When you look up a word in the thesaurus to make creative choices and substitute ordinary words (that we all use) for others, one must also need to consider the sound of those words when spoken. I chose to stick with my softer sounding word choice 'clothed' because I felt it was a better fit.
Falling Gold
The North wind has come calling
Trees nod their acquiescence
Leaves bristle on Pointe
Awaiting their dances.
Caught up in the whirlwind
Limbs bend and bow
Leaves rustle with the wind
Needing to go.
One by one
For each whose time has come
To jump, dance and pirouette
Under the setting sun.
Clothed in gilded colors
They tumble, turn, and fly
Sparkling, glistening, filtering sunlight
Dancing in the crisp blue sky.
Winds buffet, trees billow
Falling gold: amber skies
Gathered by the whirlwind
Dancing their last goodbyes.
~Mela Saylor
