16 Aug SUMMER VOICE
Most of us are hunkered down at work and home due to extreme heat. In addition to working out, our suggestion is to exercise your writing muscles.
Writing builds robust connectivity between regions of the brain and enhances memory. You don’t need to travel to a foreign destination. Look out your window, read a book or recall an event for inspiration. Then start a journal, send a friend an actual letter or write fiction for fun.
Writing also makes your speaking richer and your presentations more colorful. Remember Eloqui techniques including specifics (not generalities), painting visual snapshots and identifying your unique voice with “I” statements.
David is writing a book on his impressions of the Southwest called Heartbeats in Clay. Use it as motivation: Take a walk, absorb the visuals around you and then connect them to your own life. Following is a piece from his upcoming book:
THE ARROYO
I walked out to the arroyo before dawn. I wanted to photograph the morning light as first rays touched the pinyons, rocks and cacti.
It’s a time of hope, of endless possibilities, when the air is crisp and the sky is blinking awake– ripe with anticipation.
December is here, the birds are rustling off the frost, not quite on their game, but ready for the day’s event of finding seeds.
I brace myself, blowing on numb fingers and tweaking camera settings to the emerging light, studying the shadows as I amble through.
The arroyo started small, like many fissures in the desert. Then one rainstorm after another knifed through, widening it as water gushed around a root or boulder, creating swirls that flowed ever westward.
Bottlenecks formed a small waterfall and the arroyo deepened, carrying away sand and dirt, leaving junipers with roots exposed, like crabs awaiting the tide.
The light comes on gently, akin to alpenglow at sunset, but more subtle. The tips of the pinyon pines warm as though painted with butter, soft and golden.
To capture this ethereal quality is why I go alone and walk silently, like a bobcat.Around the bend, a grand juniper comes into view, a proud old man clinging to his pride, even though his foundations have drifted away– roots grasping the sand for a last act, determined to go out with dignity. I feel the kinship.
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