Removing Our Audio Filters (both Me and My Characters)

I’m sitting on top of a blueberry field overlooking a distant saltwater bay, in what seems like silence . . . until I recognize the distinct twitter of a scarlet tanager. Ah! She’s flown across the field, calling in now from stage right—worms with a friend, perhaps? 

If I close my eyes, I also hear wind swishing through birches and the rustle of oak leaves (there is a difference). And the buzz of a hummingbird, pausing mid-air to stare in through the screen—as if I and my laptop are creatures in his personal zoo. 

In the far distance, there is the occasional growl of a vehicle. Otherwise, the only sounds here are entirely un-manmade—a rare luxury in today’s noisy world. Back home, humans dominate my daily audio track: trucks jaking down a bridge, yard cleaners mowing and blowing and trimming. Plus the underlying coastal sounds of boat engines revving and halyards slapping against masts.

What do you hear, right now?

Stop reading for a moment, close your eyes, and focus on what’s coming in through your ears: voices, traffic, cell phone pinging away? Or maybe, if you’re lucky enough to be on vacation like me, waves lapping and seagulls cawing?

Our auditory senses can overwhelm us with information, so in self-defense we build up filters to screen out the “normal.” That’s one of the many challenges when describing what characters hear: giving readers enough detail to share the imagined experience, without over-emphasizing what that character would unconsciously filter out.

When we first arrive at this family cottage each year, I have to remember how to listen deeply again. Even if I lack the vocabulary to describe it (other than the distinctive scarlet tanager, I’m pretty much birdcall-oblivious), I still appreciate all the chirping and rustling—and the chance to let down my noise-cancelling audio guards for a few days.

Thanks for this chance to share the rich vibrance of “silence” with all of you . . . which might just form the future soundtrack of some imaginary island dweller. Maybe that character will pause to notice that a scarlet tanager has returned to her own nest, stage left. Or that the whisper of birch leaves is much more subtle than oak rustle. Or that the hovering buzz of a hummingbird inspection can make one feel like creatures in a zoo.

When we really open our ears, silence can be the richest sound of all.