Posted in Guest posts, nonfiction, postaday, writing

Guest Post ~~ MC’s Whispers ~ Mining Through Reality

Today’s guest post is written by Maria-Christina or otherwise known throughout Blogland as MC. Maria-Christina is a writer, a journalist and also a translator. I asked her if she could write something about being a translator, as I have great respect for anyone who can communicate in several languages.

Please make welcome MC, while she talks about what it’s like to be a writer with more than one language going through your mind.

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Mining through reality

Writers are weird creatures. Writers who moonlight as translators are even worse. Because their minds don’t operate in just one language. There is a whole tower of Babel being constructed daily in the chaos that constitutes their head. And when a lightning rod strikes and they get angry, you just don’t want to be on the other end of their multilingual fire!

We all have days when we just don’t want to get out of bed. Or out of the house. Or even see or speak to anyone. It is days like that when writers just sit and…well, write. When you can’t express in spoken words what it is you feel, you can just pour them out on paper. And it comes so easily. Sitting in silence and just typing, letting your sadness and your reflections flow into words on virtual paper.

And when you’ve finally emptied your head from all those thoughts, having converted them instead into lettered images, you sit and breathe. And start thinking again. Only this time, translators do it in a different language. And so they decide to start writing…again! But now in another language. Because it will be different. The emotions, the tone, the style differ between languages. It is as though each one captures the mentality and culture of its people and its home nation. Translators have another trait too, they become obsessed with finding the right words to convey the meaning and innuendos of one language into another. It is something that often drives them insane. Just like writers become fixated with finding that specific word that is right on the tip of their tongue and they would recognize it if they saw it, but just at that very moment it seems to elude them…

Writers – and translators – are weird creatures. But they are people who use their talent to mine their way through reality. It is the very thing that drives them pleasantly insane that at the very same time keeps them sane. A paradox, it is true. But can you imagine what it would be like if you had no outlet to express all the emotions you accumulate and compress inside of you? It would be like nurturing a volcano that is just bursting to erupt. And if you haven’t heard anyone swearing at you in more than one language simultaneously, all in a mumbo jumbo of anger or discretely camouflaged rage of words, then you have not experienced the true wrath that is the torture of every writer and translator out there!

 

 

MC also writes great short stories, you can find her….here. 

Thanks MC for guest posting! I appreciate it. 

 

 

 

Posted in Blog challenge, Blogging, Daily Prompt, nonfiction, postaday, stories

Daily Prompt: Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star

Daily Prompt: Ballerina Fireman Astronaut Movie Star

When you were 10, what did you want to be when you grew up? What are you now? Are the two connected?

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I liked today’s Daily Prompt. I thought it was a good one for my 251st post. Yea me! Just over 250 posts! I never thought I would get this far, next stop 500 posts!

When I was 10 I already knew what I wanted to be. I just never told anyone, except my journal. I always kept a daily journal, did for many years. That’s where I kept my fears, worries, loves, likes, hates and dreams.

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Ever since I was even younger than 10 I knew I wanted to be a writer. That has always been my secret dream. In my family dreams were kept secret, if they weren’t they were shot down pretty quickly. I was never smart enough, pretty enough, whatever enough.

I got this from my mom mostly, but also from my siblings. My dad never said too much. He was even quieter than me. I always had a suspicion that my dad  knew I wanted more out of life than to get married and have kids. He knew I had bigger dreams. Like me though, he never said anything.

I  had dreams of traveling far and wide and writing wonderful novels full of strong women who did great exciting things! I wanted to write the kind of books that made other girls dream big dreams. I wanted to write so girls and women felt powerful and in control of their lives.

I wanted to be the kind of writer that not necessarily rich, but famous in a good way. Who was looked up to. Who was admired for her ability to write.

That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be, when I was 10 or now when I’m  much older than 10. A writer.

Ah what dreams we hold when we take a pen in hand and put words down on paper. That’s how I first began to write way back then. With a pen on paper. Now it’s on the computer where I have help in spelling and grammar. After all one must be practical also. While I’m a pretty good at spelling, my grammar sometimes needs work.

image courtesy of Shakti Women
image courtesy of Shakti Women

So what am I now? Besides a whole lot older? I’m still a dreamer of dreams. A writer of words. Just not quite where I wanted to be at this age. Too many side tracks in life. Did I get married and have those kids after all? Yes and no. Yes I got married. First one was a bust with a capital B. This second one? The jury is still out on it.

As for kids, nope no kids. Couldn’t have them and truthfully, haven’t missed anything as far as I’m concerned. I have my four-legged fur babies and more than content with that. Mother material I’m not.

So here I am. No longer that dreamer of 10, but someone older with dreams still firmly attached. No matter what crap life handed out to me I held on to that dream of being a writer.

I am now trying to make that dream come true. Full steam ahead!  So I suppose in many ways the two are still firmly connected. I have held many jobs in my life, done many things, travelled some, changed a lot. But one thing has never differed.

What I wanted to be when I grew up.

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