For the love of Fiction
By: Deena Thomson
Tags: Fiction, Audiobooks, Writing, Fiction Writing, Books

Books, Audiobooks, and writing

For the love of Fiction

A personal perspective

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio from Pexels

Ever since I was a young girl I loved living in an imaginary world. Anything could happen if you let your mind open up and run free and I did. Much to my Mother’s annoyance.

I was born hard of hearing but would go nearly a decade before diagnoses. Before that, I was often yelled at for not paying attention and my head in the clouds all the time.

It is true. My head was in the clouds. The moment I turned my back sounds would blend together. Becoming a blurred hum buried underwater.

The perfect medium to fall into worlds swirling around in my head. I could and still can get lost in my own thoughts.

Books have always been a huge part of my life. I read at least one book a week. To be honest with the increase in popularity of audiobooks, I go through even more books than that in a week.

I love books. Audiobooks bring it to another level.

Shocking, for a person who relies on hearing aids to understand people. My love of Audiobooks started when I went from being a mom of one for eleven years to a mom of six in the span of six years.

During those days of raising many younger children and working full time, my love of books was set aside. Shelved, for a day when I could sit down once again with a book in my hands and fall into the world of words.

I still squeezed in a book or two throughout the years but most of the time I lived in stories inside my head. I always wrote down ideas and poems on scraps of paper and lined notebooks. To this day I still get the excitement of holding a fresh new book in my hands. Relish turning the cover over and pressing a pen to paper. It’s a thrill that never gets old. The window opening up to release the universe alive in my head.

Where did they come from? Where did they go? It’s enticing to sit and let it flow. A life of its own. Most often the story leads in a direction I had no idea of when I started.

I wrote my first novel when I was fourteen years old and by the time I was fifteen I had written two. Were they good? Probably not, but it doesn’t matter I loved it. Just as much as reading books.

I missed my books during that time of life when reality needed me focused on the here and now. I missed it, that is until I took the plunge and listened to my first audiobook.

I fought it. Audiobooks. I didn’t consider it “reading.” I finally caved when a book came that I wanted to read and didn’t know how I was going to fit it in with my busy schedule. How could I justify sitting down and reading for hours when I had a mountain of laundry to wash and fold away? Never mind the constant meals to cook and cleaning that never ended and all before I had to go to work. Yet, I wanted to read this book I was hearing all about.

The book was The Help by Kathryn Stockett.

And so began my love of audiobooks.

If you have ever had doubts about audiobooks. I recommend this one. I didn’t know it at the time but it was “the” audiobook to listen to when I decided to take my plunge. What a wonderful treat. A new discovery. A brand new outlet to enjoy the stories told by others.

I couldn’t stop listening. I am not the person who can tell Alexa to play my recent audiobook. No, I need to have earbuds in and drown out everything around me. For me to fully absorb the words I need them played directly in my ears. So I strapped on a fanny pack plugged in my earbuds to my phone and listened.

The funny part is I started to fold clothes and move through the mundane chores I had to do. Dare I say it. I even searched for things to do because I didn’t want to stop listening.

That one audiobook helped me get through the stuff I hated. To this day I rely on audiobooks to get crap done.

I decluttered. I painted my entire house. Reinvented my space. I helped others do the same including where I worked. All the while listening to suspense thrillers and young adult dystopian novels.

Each book brought my love of writing back. The emptiness of writer’s block that seemed stamped in my head began to fill back up.

I wanted to press the pen against paper again. Let the words flow. So I did and here I am. Writing about the things I love. Fiction.

Writing fiction for a living is not one that is a realistic dream to chase after. It’s the hardest genre to crack. I have no illusions about it and yet, I can’t stop writing it.

Poetry is my therapy. Fiction is the moving videos in my brain wanting me to pump it out fast onto paper before I lose it. It makes me feel happy. My true self. I have to do it. Is it good? Anything good or bad is in the eye of the beholder. Will I be able to quit my day job? Probably not. Will I stop? No. Even if I am told I am not good. I will still write. I will keep trying. Keep learning. Keep growing. Even if it gives me nothing else.

I love fiction novels. I will never get enough of them. If I could listen to audiobooks all day for a living I would in a heartbeat.

I am still that little girl. Head in the clouds. Mind focused on stories, mine, or others. Fiction. Love it. One of my greatest joys in life.