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“Speed listening” and Audiobooks

How to read a lot without even trying. Or understanding.

a narrow hallway filled to the brim with books, from floor to ceiling. Probably is a basement in a library. The books are piled haphazardly.

In 2015, The Atlantic reported on the phenomenon of speed listening in “entrepreneur circles” (i.e. goof balls looking for idiotic venture capital money). Speed listening is the act of experiencing the audio or dictated version of a book at a high rate of speed. Normal speech would be at a rate of 1x. Speed listening increases the rate to 1.25x, 1.5x or, for most listening apps, 2x. Yes, it makes the voice sound funny and the words go by comically fast, but the bad aural experience is simply a means to an ever-more-information-absorption end.

I read about 25-30 books every year. Some of these are paper books and some I listen to on audio (which yes, I also refer to as “reading.”) Unabridged versions and their latest copies are the only volumes I’ll take in. If I can’t find a full edition, I skip to the next book on my To-Be-Read pile and look for the full version at a later date. Often I will have both a copy of the hardcover book and a stream of the audiobook concurrently, and I switch back and forth between them.

When I was in a book club with other moms years ago, one woman took issue with my choice to listen to the month’s selection instead of reading the paperback copy. I had a small child at the time and the audiobook was super convenient, as I could listen leisurely as I pushed the stroller. I’d rewind and listen to passages again. I’d even slow down the rate of speed if I wanted to truly absorb the meaning of a paragraph, or to just bask in its beautiful construction. I didn’t think I was cheating anyone out of a reading or book club experience because I listened to the audiobook. Actually, I thought the audio performance was wonderful and added nuance. This woman argued that I did not have to “do as much work” in imagining the character’s voices or in sensing the tone of scenes. Perhaps she’s right. Perhaps listening to fiction audiobooks is more akin to seeing a play performed instead of reading the script. I didn’t feel like I missed anything, but I could tell the woman was more than a little miffed. (She may have thought of book club as more like homework-a-la-middle-school-Lit-class. I was just happy to be somewhere with adults discussing fiction!)

The Silicon Valley types in the 2015 Atlantic article were, on the whole, more interested in non-fiction. I also read (and, OK, LISTEN TO) many non-fiction books yearly. I’ve tried listening to them at accelerated rates, but my brain doesn’t really like it. A 1.25x speed is OK for a particularly slow talker but otherwise I keep the speed set at the default 1x rate. The unicorn-wannabes in San Fran may absorb info more quickly than I, but from what I’ve seen about learning, processing, comprehension, etc., I doubt it. For them, it seems the status of having-read-the-book is more important than having-learned-something-from-the-book.

Luckily, I have no-one to impress. No cutthroat water cooler chatter about the latest on Elon Musk. No latest GF Keto Brain Boost routine, or Raising Kids like A Start-Up (I almost wrote that book once). I read what I want, when I want. Another lucky thing: my non-fiction tastes usually coincide with a large cohort of technologists, scientists, and self-improvement junkies online. I get some traction for my blog and tweets by sharing my insights about the latest business books in my niche. (Indeed, almost every book I’ve reviewed on this site has elicited a comment or three from the author. I stopped reviewing business books and only tweet about them now. I guess I could go back to reviewing but I spend too much time reading to stop to write reviews!)

Granted, not all books are worthy audiobooks. Heck, some books are just bad in paper or audio form. I toss those back into the abyss after the first few chapters. But some great paper books are ruined by the voice artist. The Power of Habit by Charles Duhigg is a great book with an absolutely TERRIBLE reader. But there are other great books with audio versions that are destination experiences in themselves (Jim Dale’s performance of all the Harry Potter books is a must-listen).

As a freelancer who works alone at home, I spend a lot of my day in total silence save for the click click click of my keyboard. When I am cooking, hiking, walking the dog, doing laundry, etc., I don’t want more silence. Audiobooks (and sometimes podcasts) are often my companions. Sometimes I’ll work through one book at a time. Right now I have about 3 different ones to choose from. I have small piles of paper books all over my house, too, waiting for a moment with a cup of tea.

As you can guess, I don’t watch that much TV. This isn’t a dis. Television storytelling has come a long way and there are many worthy shows. I watch some. But if I can’t stream it at will, I probably won’t see it. Books are more easily accessible, and, frankly, are more relevant to my two worlds of fiction and non-fiction writing.

I won’t be speeding listening, though, no matter how many books I want to read or how many cool TV shows tempt me away. I read to learn, to be entertained, to escape to other worlds, to stimulate my brain. Some things are better done at a regular pace.

Image by Free-Photos from Pixabay
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Strong is the new pretty

Moving away from shallow standards of beauty.

black and white photo of a preteen female athlete in a swim suit, swim cap, goggles and a race number pinned to her suit.
“First Triathlon” Copyright Kate T. Parker

I came across the phrase “Strong is the new pretty” last week. It’s the book title of a photography series by Kate T. Parker, which captures girls in sporty, messy shows of power. From the blurb:

Real beauty isn’t about being a certain size, acting a certain way, wearing the right clothes, or having your hair done (or even brushed). Real beauty is about being your authentic self and owning it. Kate T. Parker is a professional photographer who finds the real beauty in girls, capturing it for all the world to see in candid and arresting images.

-Kate T. Parker Strong is the New Pretty
Picture of 70-something white female model with white short hair on the top of a building in a city with the skyline behind her.
Maye Musk

The book took off, probably fueled by such a great title. I myself have been looking for a new pretty. Beauty seems inextricably tied to youth in this culture, and I am no longer young. I search for role models like Maye Musk and Iris Apfel. Stunning grace and outrageous style, respectively, are their new pretties.

I want “strong” to be mine. I want to embrace the ugly and move on to being satisfied (enough) with my progress as a writer. While leaving the house in yoga pants (unless I’m going to yoga) may never be on the agenda, I have emerged sans makeup more times in the last 6 months than all times put together since my first corporate jobs in my 20s. (I rarely if ever wore makeup in college or in the academic research labs I worked in directly after.) It feels strange to be bare-faced but it helps to imagine I’m invisible like the older women told me I’d become. Instead of blending my makeup, I blend into the crowd.

People can’t see your inner strength just by looking at you. They can’t see your talent or your empathy or your capacity to love deeply. Strength and fortitude, confidence and creativity are the true beauty marks.

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Accepting the ugly

crackled sepia pencil sketch picture of a woman's bare back and butt looking into a hand held square mirror where we can see only her face

Remember those glorious stay-up-til-wee-hours phone calls with friends where you’d talk about anything and everything or just literally sit there while you played your own video games or went about your day? It was sometimes just comforting to hear them breathe.

Few and far between those calls are these days (but Facebook and other tech co’s are coming out with video hardware for this), but I just was lucky enough to stay up until 3 am chatting with a long distance friend. Unlike back in the old days when the phone lines (and maybe a fax if you were fancy) were the only media, our conversation was aided by Facebook messenger, texting and hyperlinks.

When the conversation came around to beauty (and my issues with it, which maybe I’ll blog about another time), my friend sent me this quote pic on Facebook (hover to read Alt text):

the first step towards confidence is not being afraid to be ugly

once you get over the fear of being unattractive and stop equating beauty with other good things in life (friends, love, happiness) it's a lot easier to love yourself unconditionally

your job is not to sit around and be pretty easy on everyone else's eyes

your job is to do whatever the fuck you want and look however the fuck you want while doing it 

pinkspotlight
A search for the original source “pinkspotlight” didn’t turn up any hits.

In my 2:30 a.m. giddy haze, this wisdom dropped on me like a ton of bricks. So many years I’ve been told about the Buddhist concept of acceptance, been exposed to the concept of “radical acceptance” and have read tomes about optimism, realism etc. etc. and none of it was so succinctly said.

The beauty of this quote (see what I did there?) is that it is applicable to any situation. Don’t be afraid to be a bad writer. Don’t be afraid of being under-qualified for that job. Stop equating perfection with good enough, and know that good enough is MORE than enough to get the job done.

I had another lovely conversation with a friend today. We took a brisk morning (decent hours!) walk for exercise and touching base. We talked about the concept of feeling safe. Both she and I are freelancers, and whew, Fam. Freelancing ain’t for the weak. Referencing this quote, I suggested, what if we just accept that we are not safe? What if we start with the idea that the world is NOT A SAFE PLACE? Would that put our paralyzing fear in perspective? You know. Maybe. Acceptance does some crazy things.

This is, for me, another step to confidence in writing fiction.

What are you going to accept?

Image by JL G from Pixabay
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Stealthily blogging about nothing

Or, how I can write a lot but say very little.

A mostly white page with a marbled cover journal, a gold pen atop it, and a corner of a laptop above them

Blogging started as “web logging,” i.e. writing a personal diary on the internet. Merriam-Webster has “blog” defined as “an online personal journal with reflections, comments, and often hyperlinks, videos, and photos provided by the writer. From: Weblog. First known use 1999.” I started this blog in 2004, in the beginning of the boom.

But I also kept a pen-and-paper journal and still do. I try to write at least one full page every day. Journaling was a very intermittent practice for me until I came upon Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. In working through that book, I fulfilled its requirement of writing 3 pages of stream-of-consciousness each and every day for 90 days. The point oof that exercise is to create a daily writing habit and to let go of one’s inner editor. I did the 90 days and kept on. That was at least 7 years ago. Now I rarely skip a weekday and often write on weekends, too. I’ve changed the requirement from 3 pages to 1 page (minimum). My journal (no-one calls them “diaries” anymore) is a repository for all my anger and frustrations. It helps me to be a more pleasant person.

Blogs were accessible most easily by a web browser. Blogging’s popularity grew as web browsers did. Soon mainstream media began trawling blogs for publishable content. The personal essay boom was born. People, mostly women, were being paid to tell their most heinous and personal stories for clicks (and sometimes ~very little~ money). 

Not once have I worked any of the journal pages into a personal essay for mainstream media. I’m sure I could sell some pieces. I’ve thought about it. At the end of the day, the trust of the people around me and my desire to avoid backlash keep me from doing it.

“What about Twitter, Facebook, etc?” you may ask. True, I do post quite a bit on social sharing sites, but those posts are short and they fly by, soon lost in the deluge of sputterings from everyone else on the planet. They’re disregarded like crappy fortunes from stale cookies. Media sites like Buzzfeed aren’t so disposable. The internet is forever, as they say. Having a piece follow me around after I’ve grown past it sounds like a nightmare. Tweets do come back to haunt once in a while, but it seems the zeitgeist is more willing to forget them than an essay plastered on a big news site. Plus, I don’t tweet much of substance. Facebook and Twitter for me are love-hate entities. They provide me with much-wanted human interaction but also bait me into skirmishes and lead me down rabbit holes. (For Inktober’s prompt today, “Bait,” I drew their logos along with YouTube’s). 

a black ink circle with hand drawn logs of youtube, twitter and facebook

My reluctance to share any “real deal” stuff is based in my love of privacy, something of which I had very little growing up. Blogging daily, even for a month, is a challenge to that preference. Each time I blog I am reminded of the backlash against women for their personal essays, or how inadvertent branding can dog a person for a long time. I’m not a fan of those prospects. So I write about myself without really writing much. I try to add value. Sometimes. Most of the time. But I try to do it without directly talking about my family, my politics or my preferences. 

Blogging daily (something I’ve never done for more than a week) is bound to produce some less-than-valuable posts, perhaps posts more akin to the throw-away thoughts on Twitter. I’ll do my best to avoid that, but the point of #Blogtober doesn’t seem to be value as much as volume. So volume it is. I’ll try to make the reads worth it. You never know. I may slip and reveal a personal factoid in my rush. A reader can only hope. 

Image by Jess Watters from Pixabay
Image by Christine Cavalier
A mostly white page with a marbled cover journal, a gold pen atop it, and a corner of a laptop above them 0 comments

Google “how to be confident” and you’ll get 411,000,000 results. A quick browsing through the top spots will turn up tips like “Push through self-limiting beliefs” and “Overcome self-doubt.”

Of course, if you knew how to do all these (redundant!) steps then you wouldn’t be searching for “how to be confident” in the first place. The advice is long in quippy tips and super short on knitty gritty. Exactly how does one begin to think bigger and stop second-guessing oneself? Meditation? Extreme exercise? Primal screaming?

Confidence is an interesting phenomenon. It seems so many people have it when they shouldn’t, and not enough people have some when they should. Society has strict dictates on who gets to be confident: Pro-sports players. Politicians. White men.

For women (especially women of color), our confidence is strongly policed by society (lest we rise up and unleash our rage upon those who oppress us). “Too big for her breeches,” “arrogant,” “difficult,” “uppity,” and the general term “bitchy” have been hurled at almost every woman on the planet at least once (in my case, SEVERAL times) in her life. This has me thinking that maybe confidence doesn’t always come from the traditional approach of learning, continued practice, and good feedback. Maybe confidence can come from anger.

hink about it – remember that time when you were so pissed off you marched right up to that person/place/thing and unloaded a rant so hot it melted faces off unsuspecting onlookers? Lack of confidence in that moment was a non-starter. Anger obliterated limiting beliefs and cleared out any last drops of self-doubt. You didn’t care. You were going to GO OFF and there was no stopping you.

Perhaps a dose of anger is something to apply to the situation in which you lack confidence. Here are two steps:

1. Imagine someone trying to block you from achieving your goal. Think of your worst bully in grade school, VP Pence, Satan. Imagine them telling you there’s no way you can do your thing.
2. Get livid and do the thing.

We tend to forgive mistakes in speech, performance, etc. when it is done in anger. We gloss over a ranter’s errors with “Let it go, she’s on a roll.” Get on a roll. Roll often. Practice does build confidence. Let’s lifehack anger to get us practicing that which we fear.

 Image by rawpixel from Pixabay
 Image by Alexas_Fotos from Pixabay 



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