EDITING 101: 36 – Removing Filter Words…

This is something I’ve learned on my own, and continue to work on. I didn’t think of them as filter words; instead, these were words overused and abstract, that showed and conveyed little, doing so at a distance. I also noticed that the books I best enjoyed rarely used these words. The authors instead let me share the experience, rather than telling me about it.

Chris The Story Reading Ape's avatarChris The Story Reading Ape's Blog

Originally posted as the Dun Writin’—Now Whut? series on this blog, EDITING 101 is a weekly refresher series for some of you and brand new for others.

Courtesy ofAdirondack Editing

Removing Filter Words

Filter words are placed between your character and the action. Generally, they are added to a sentence when trying to describe something that your character is experiencing or thinking. While, as usual, there’s a place for them in writing, you can tighten up your scenes immensely when they’re removed. It’s another tidbit for helping you show, rather than tell, as without the filter words, you’re forced to add more description to get what you mean across.

What are some filter words? Felt, realized, saw, wondered, seemed, decided, heard, knew, touched, watched, and can are some of the more common ones. You can search the Internet for other lists of filtering words. Cutting away your filtering words and forcing…

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Catconnoiter

Catconnoiter (definition): for a feline to make an observation of an area.

In Use: “After eating his first breakfast, Scheckter catconnoitered his yard each morning to ensure order remained, doing his business in brush along the fence.”

The Flow

I’m in that writing flow, a preternatural existence where the writing process works exceptionally well for me. Permitting it to suck me in, I sit and read, edit, revise, and type. When I’m off the computer, I write in my head, making notes to myself. Sometimes I slip over to the computer, open the doc, make a few quick changes, and save it and close. I see the book as a completed whole. I feel its heft. Its shape fills my hands. I’m just refining the digital presence to match what I see and feel, what I know to be real.

Slipping back into the real world reminds me of being high. Colors are sharper and more vibrant. I feel more aware and in-tune, balanced and at peace. I think, I’m on a writing high, stoned on creativity. I’m sure there are some bio-chemical components released when I feel like this that reinforce the sensations, driving me to seek this experience again, itself developing into and generating a wheel of expectation.

Of course, it’s daunting and dismaying when that damn wheel tumbles over or freezes. If we’re good with coping with it, we develop approaches to fix it, oil the wheel and get it all turning again. Reading an two-year-old article posted to HuffPost, “Eighteen Things Highly Creative People Do Differently,” I’m surprised that I have all but three of these habits structured into my existence.

One area where I divert from those eighteen things is that I do like habits. I use habits to protect the creativity. Setting myself up to write at about the same time, with the same drink, at the same place, creates intentions and expectations for me, and frees me from others’ expectations for what’s going to happen during that time; they know I’ll be off writing. Then again, as the article suggests, I’m structuring my day to take advantage of my most creative and productive periods.

The second is that I’m not a risk-taker. I’ve taken risks, and I’ve broken bones, and gotten hurt and lost in all manner of ways. That, and my wife’s predisposition toward being cautious, has muted my risk-taking. Being honest with myself, though, I still have a huge self-confidence gap and remain insecure, another reason why I avoid risk-taking.

The other trait that I don’t do is surround myself with beauty, unless you can count my cats, wife and friends, and the natural beauty of southern Oregon that surrounds us.

In that HuffPost article, the author, Carolyn Gregoire, writes about the flow state that I wrote about, quoting Scott Barry Kaufman, who co-wrote a book about creativity. I didn’t know the flow state was actually a thing. I’d always known it existed, and that I can access it via deep thinking and concentration, not just in creative matters, but in other areas, too. It stands to reason that I’m not the first to experience it, but I’m embarrassed that I never sought more information about it.

Carolyn Gregoire and Scott Kaufman do a better job of describing the flow state than I did:

Creative types may find that when they’re writing, dancing, painting or expressing themselves in another way, they get “in the zone,” or what’s known as a flow state, which can help them to create at their highest level. Flow is a mental state when an individual transcends conscious thought to reach a heightened state of effortless concentration and calmness. When someone is in this state, they’re practically immune to any internal or external pressures and distractions that could hinder their performance.

You get into the flow state when you’re performing an activity you enjoy that you’re good at, but that also challenges you — as any good creative project does.

“[Creative people] have found the thing they love, but they’ve also built up the skill in it to be able to get into the flow state,” says Kaufman. “The flow state requires a match between your skill set and the task or activity you’re engaging in.”

The embedded link in Gregoire’s article will open an interesting TED Talk by Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi about the flow state.

How about you, writers? Do you know this other-world experience in creating and being? Do you do these eighteen things like creatives do?

Twenty-two

Twenty-two dead today

More will die tomorrow

In the name of freedom, choice, democracy and God

We’ll strike back to teach them a lesson

Twenty-two dead today

More will die tomorrow

In the name of freedom, choice, democracy and God

Twenty-two dead today

How many more tomorrow?

Pawticular

Pawticular (definition): A cat’s food, drinking or sleeping preference.

In use: “Scheckter was pawticular about drinking water from the bathroom sink while it dribbled out in low volume.”

Today’s Theme Music

The anti-folk music Beck came along around in nineteen ninety-three with ‘Loser’. I’ve always enjoyed its self-deprecatory sense of humor on display and a style I found laconic. I later learned – probably through Sarah and Vinnie on the radio – that this song’s lyrics arose when he was attempting to perform, and failed to get and keep the audience’s attention. “I’m a loser, baby, so why don’t you kill me?” Beyond that, I found the song’s words and tone reflected disgust about our consumer world and its hypocrisy.

That spoke to me.

 

 

Catalong

Catalong (definition): A feline habit of following or accompanying others during their activities.

In use: “Whenever Crystal heard the key in the lock, she would jump up to go greet her people, and her kittens would catalong.”

Here is my interview with Michael Seidel

My interview with Fiona Mcvie. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed the process. Cheers

fionamcvie1964's avatarauthorsinterviews

Hello and welcome to my blog, Author Interviews. My name is Fiona Mcvie.

 

Let’s get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?

Michael Seidel, sixty years and a couple hundred days old.

 

Fiona: Where are you from?

 I was born in Virginia in the US. I was a military brat, though, so I’ve lived all over the U.S., and then I was in the military and lived and traveled the world. I now live in southern Oregon.

 

Fiona: A little about yourself (i.e., your education, family life, etc.).

­Retired from the  U.S. Air Force after twenty years in 1995. I’ve been married for forty-two years and now live in Ashland, Oregon, held hostage by four male cats. IF YOU CAN READ THIS, PLEASE SEND CAT KIBBLE. I did stints in Silicon Valley in the SF Bar Area with…

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Today’s Theme Music

Mom gave this album to me for a Christmas present in nineteen seventy-three, a gift made on my older sister’s recommendation.

I was ecstatic. I’d only heard and read a little about the album, ‘Quadraphenia,’ but I was an enormous Who fan at that point. Come on, they were fresh off ‘Tommy’ and ‘Who’s Next?,’ with the legendary, ‘Won’t Be Fooled Again.’ Their music spoke to a wannabe teenage rebel on the cusp of childhood’s end.

I played the bejesus out of this album, generally at a wall-shaking volume. This song, ‘The Real Me,’ was the opening track. While the song speaks to me with its lyrics and Daltry’s delivery, I’m enamored with Entwhistle’s flowing, active, dominating bass.

The cracks between the paving stones
Look like rivers of flowing veins
Strange people who know me
Peeping from behind every window pane
The girl I used to love
Lives in this yellow house
Yesterday she passed me by
She doesn’t want to know me now

h/t to Metrolyrics.com

I think it’s an appropriate song for the Internet age and the era of fake news. People hide behind anonymous posts and comments, putting forward false identities, deploying lies and false information to stoke fear and doubt, and further their causes.

Can you see the real me?

A Dream of Reassurance

The dream leaped into chaos. ‘They’ were trying to become organized.

First, we were working in packed offices. All were dressed in dark blue utility uniforms and black jump boots. Men and women were present, but no children, and no elderly. Thirty people were using office space planned for ten people. I was upper middle-management, which afforded me more freedom and space. While the majority worked at two rows of tables, side by side by side, elbows to assholes, my space was in the back. But  the filing cabinets, telephones, and coffee fax machines were at the front. I was required to go forward to get what I needed, and then go back via a narrow row. The two people in charge would often be in that narrow row, talking, planning and consulting, forcing me to wait and fume with impatience.

So I began thinking ahead about other things that I could do. I knew, in the dream, we would be leaving soon. We would not be able to take much. There was something confusing in the dream about carefully cutting our pockets from our shirts to make quasi-gloves to protect our hands, and wearing strange netting as leggings to protect our legs.

The order came to pack up. Confusion and noise levels increased as we, and thousands of others, left our offices and crowded into a marshaling area. I followed all the instructions. Inspectors went through to see how everyone was doing. My activities impressed them, which amused me.

But horror struck me after a while. I realized that I’d done as instructed, and had packed my laptop into my luggage. My God, what a mistake, I thought. I was distraught, believing, people handling the bags will rip me off. I’d never see that computer again, and all my work on it would be lost.

At that point, I began stirring from my sleep, and the dream. As I did, a voice said, “Don’t worry. You’re not going to lose anything. You still have everything you need.”

Just before I left the dream, I was given my wheeled black travel bag. I opened it, and there was my laptop. I awoke, pleased and relieved.

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