All the Colors of the Rainbow

I have long been mindful of the limitations caused by various physical handicaps.  While I don't experience any such handicaps myself, I try to be aware of the things those with handicaps may not be able to experience.  Someone deaf can't be woken by the morning song of the birds.  The feeling of soft grass underfoot is missed by one bound to a wheelchair.

Even with the constant pushing of technological boundaries, there are still some limits.  One thing science hasn't allowed us to do yet is show colors to the blind.  How do you show someone that has never seen what red is?  What do you use as a reference when saying that yellow and blue make green?  That is what I'm going to attempt to do today.  Not everything I describe will look like the color I use it with.  I'm less concerned with how something looks than with how it feels.

Red
Red is the color of anger.  It the fire that roars inside when feeling rage. The pop and roar of a fire give red its sound.  It is the raw heat of flame.  It is the lifeblood that flows through our bodies.  Pricking your finger on a rose's thorn calls red forth.  Cinnamon is red on the tongue.

Orange
Orange is controlled strength.  Orange is the warmth of a body under a thick, soft blanket.  The feeling of a warm mug of tea in your hands.  Trumpets and trombones play orange's music. The acidity of orange juice as it flows down the throat, the sharpness of a grapefruit, the sensation of a warm slice of pie.  All of these are orange.

Yellow
Yellow is soft and smooth.  It is calm and quiet.  The touch of the sun on a spring day is yellow.  The softness of a baby chick.  The silky feel of a rose petal.  Songbirds in the morning sing yellow's song.  A kitchen filled with the smells of baking bread becomes yellow.  Yellow tastes like crisp lemonade and the buttery texture of a pastry fresh from the oven.

Green
The smell of a freshly cut lawn fills the world with green.  The emotion of living is green.  A bite from a crisp apple is green.  The vibrancy and renewal of Spring is all green.  Green is the sliminess of Jell-O squished between the fingers.  It is the pungency of fresh mint.  It is the burst of juice when a grape is crushed between the teeth.

Blue
Blue is where colors start to get cool.  Streams and creeks flowing from melting snow are blue.  Being sad is sometimes called feeling blue.  The clatter of ice in a glass of water ring with blue.  The coolness and relief from that water running down a parched throat.  The air after a cleansing rain is filled with the smell of blue.  The popping of blueberries and their essence in a muffin are the flavor of blue.

Purple
Purple is the color of royalty.  It flows with pride.  It is the caress of a thick pile carpet.  It is lounging on a very comfortable couch.  A clarinet and sax quartet would play the songs of purple.  The pop and fizz after a firework explodes are all purple.  Sipping a sweet wine causes purple to flow over your tongue.

There are many more colors, but I think this would be a good start.  Do you think I got any wrong?  How would you describe a color I didn't?

Is Anybody Listening?

I know you are out there.  I can hear you breathing.  More precisely, I can see the hits to this blog every day.  I know when specific posts are viewed.  Sometimes I can tell which other sites you use to link to my blog.  It is obvious that fifty hits in a single day from computers in Germany are most likely bots trawling the internet, but you aren't one of those.  Are you?

The reason I say all of this is because you are very important to what I do.  A writer creates a world and shapes it with words.  Words that readers either enjoy or despise.  Your feedback is what helps a writer refine their craft.

An artist knows people appreciate their work when studios put on shows and people come to appreciate the display.  Carpenters get validation when the furnishings they construct stay together and are treated well by their owners.  Fashion designers know their works are enjoyed when their models receive rounds of applause at fashion shows.  A writer's best source of feedback is comments and reviews.

If you read a blog post you enjoy, take a few seconds to leave a comment.  If you didn't enjoy it, take a few seconds to say why.  After you read a book, leave a review with the retailer you purchased the book from, even if it's only a star rating.  This gets back to the author and gives them more information than just a sales report.  

Did readers fall in love with the characters?  Was the story exciting or just drawn out?  Was the universe in which the story takes place believable?  With so much of the story in the author's mind, they don't always have the same impression as a reader would.  Only a reader can say what they did and didn't like about a book or story.  Since authors don't tend to be telepathic, you, as a reader, must let them know.

Just as an artist can alter their color palette to evoke different feelings, a writer can use different words or develop their characters more to get the same result.  The only way they know if the story is a beloved one is through your feedback.

I am asking you, the wonderful reader, to start the new year with a mission.  When you read a blog post, leave a comment.  After you finish a book, rate it.  Let the author and the rest of the world what you thought about the author's efforts.  Feel free to start with a comment on this post right here.

An Onerous Task

With the right choice of words and structure, even the most everyday of tasks can become an exciting narrative.  With a simple change in how things are described can give a new perspective on even the most tedious of chores.  Shedding a new light on how things are seen can add a degree of excitement to something almost everyone has done at one point or another in their lives.

Once again I am forced to walk away from the warmth and comfort of my home.  I travel down the well-worn path with my large beast at my side.  A beast whose muscles were barely covered by a thick coat of fur.  A beast that could tear a throat out with his powerful jaws or slumber peacefully curled up next to his owner.  It all depended on his mood at the time.

Our travels at this time necessitated by the need to answer the primal Call Of Nature.  The instinct was too much for my simple abode to contain.  These periodic sojourns into the wilds were necessary and important for the both of us.

As we make our way past trees and small fields of grass and flowers, unseen eyes spot us passing by.  Peering out from the darkness, they watch us until we are no longer in their field of vision.  The beast at my side and I are both dismissed from their thoughts almost as quickly as we disappear from their sight.  The shadowed beings then return to their combat on war-torn battlefields, cutting and singeing of flesh for consumption, or whatever tasks they were undertaking before my passing.

The instincts of the beast have not reached a high enough point that he would strain against the narrow tether connecting us.  This allows me to control our direction as other paths and routes splinter off our desired path.  I maintain this control until we reach a field larger than the others we passed.  At one end of the field the yells and screams of children of various ages could be heard.  At the other end was our destination, a small cluster of trees where the beast could perform his naturally demanded activities in privacy.  As he did so I looked across to the children and smiled as some contorted themselves around large pieces of equipment while others squealed as they were chased from one discreet hiding place to another.  While all looked innocent at the moment, I knew many injuries had been suffered and much blood had been spilled at this place over the generations.

The beast unleashed a growling sound to inform me that he had finished what he came to do.  We carefully returned to the peace and safety of my home along the same path which took us away.  This time I nodded to acknowledge some of those hiding in the shadows that observed me.  Others I passed unaware of their presence.  Once we returned and safely entered my home, I began to perform a few tasks to satisfy my own instinctual needs.

Who knew walking the dog to the local park could sound so interesting?  Is there a chore or task you have ever thought of differently in order to make it less tedious?