As I write this, I’m in the middle of the process of recording The Poison Box for its audiobook debut. I have always wanted to do this. I work so hard, in my fiction writing, in particular, to make my prose as poetic as possible, and the act of speaking those words aloud, in the tone and rhythm that I intended, gives me such a wonderful sense of completion. I love hearing my world come alive, and hearing the sound of my characters’ voices even though those voices are only my own (I’m not an actor, and as such, I thought it would be a wiser decision to just use my own voice with an attention to tone and timbre that would match the character and his or her emotion.)
This project has also taught me so much about myself and communication that I did not expect. For one thing, I learned that I do not enunciate very well. (Who knew?!) I had to record so many retakes, and later, it was discovered that there were even more enunciation issues that had to be fixed.
The culprit, I think, is talking faster than I’m thinking. There have been many times in my life when I felt that I was on a timer the moment I opened my mouth – as if I’m either actually being timed or I only have a certain allotment of words that I can use before I run out. There has also been the influence of my introversion, which eschews the spotlight, and as such, wants to finish speaking as quickly as possible so I’m no longer the focal point of someone’s attention.
But…what an absolute pleasure it is to experience holding that attention with my words for such a prolonged period of time. What a pleasure to learn to speak every word slowly enough to hear every phoneme. Slowly enough to taste each sound.
This attention to detail – to clear speech – has also brought other lessons to light. It is so important, I realized, to speak clearly and with incredible attention to detail and intention. What are we trying to communicate? Why? Is the tone clear? Are the words enunciated? Is there sufficient context?
Communication is so vitally important. Whether verbal or non, it is the bridge that connects us to another person. Words, whispers, glances, expressions, touch. I realize more and more as I work through this project that we should always be so mindful, so careful about how we communicate. All our forms of communication are literally the threads that bind us to one another. Unclear communication creates barriers that weren’t meant to exist. And worse, careless communication creates fraying at the threads of our connections.
Lastly, I am reminded of the importance of seeking and speaking truth – something that’s incredibly relevant to American culture right now. The Poison Box circles around a set of stories – “facts” that are carelessly (one might even say vindictively) circulated by people who were not witness to the events and who, as such, don’t actually know the truth. The reader has no reason to question these accounts, trusting, like we all do, their narrators (in this case, the characters who tell those stories) until, a few chapters later, I revisit those stories from the perspective of the person who was actually involved. Suddenly, the reader discovers they don’t know what actually happened, at all, and that everything that was taken as fact by other characters was either entirely untrue, or was true but with a very important piece of missing information that made the event look a whole lot different once that piece of information was gleaned.
Misinformation and assumption have been weighing heavily on my mind, thanks to the state of the media and politics right now (and honestly, for a long time). It’s so easy to listen and believe whatever we hear, forgetting that there might be an agenda behind the information that’s being spread. There might be falsehoods or, at the very least, interpretations that create inaccuracies.
It’s so important to go straight to the source when we want factual information. It’s so important to question what we hear, to recognize the filters that information travels through. It’s so important not to react to information until we’ve done some solid investigating. And it’s critical that we don’t share it until we know what we’re sharing. Inaccurate information is like a virus – it’ll spread quickly and destructively if we aren’t careful to keep the germs at bay.
As a writer, I’ve always known our words are a great gift. So much more so than I think we realize. The chance to communicate in any way is such a blessing. But we were given even more than that – the ability to paint pictures and evoke feelings with words. The ability to share our stories with each other in any way we please.
This is a gift that deserves to be honored for the privilege that it is. We cannot afford to keep throwing words into the world without forethought or intention. We have to be the stewards of truth, of thoughtful, considered speech, of impeccably researched information.
It’s easier and far more dramatic to let our mouths (or fingers, if you’re a writer) run away with us. Sloppy communication and incendiary information boosts the ratings. Because of this, I think it’s safe to say that the media will not change this trend. Politicians will certainly not change it.
The change is up to us. We don’t need to be writers or public speakers or journalists. Even in our small circles, being impeccable with the information we share will create huge ripples of change. In a world this full of noise, this full of incisive inaccuracies, people will take notice of deliberate, intentional communication.
So thank you, Poison Box, for a million gifts, including the reminder of how beautiful words are, how important it is to speak precisely, and how much this world longs for truthful, intentional communication.