I started reading when I was three years old. Not ridiculously early, I know, but a bit sooner than most. I have gone through phases of voracious reading and even in slower times I find myself needing to read something. At the moment it is Wicked by Gregory Maguire, a book I am certain is going to break my heart. I also write, obviously, and have been doing so as a hobby since I was twelve and as a professional pursuit since I was 18. I have a love for language in general, and the English language in particular, that has defined my entire life.
Words are remarkable tools. They impart ideas. They preserve and share knowledge. They allow us to reach each other in ways that body language cannot, if we let them. They show us where we have been and shed light on where we may be going. They are a remarkable medium of art, perhaps the first and truest. They are clay, paint, note, wood, steel, and cloth and they are required to understand all of those. You do not know the painting with out the words to describe it. You cannot feel music, truly, without words to express it.
Words have been my friend through lonely times. They have been my mentor in a crowd. Language has given me gifts beyond compare, from a long treatise on the human condition to quick, clever rhymes about a summer storm. Books and essays, magazines and blogs, these are the worlds I live in, venturing forth into the world of means and meat because I must, and because I love those there so much. I have used verse to describe my grief, and prose to share my joy. I have been helped by words, and aided others with them. They have broken my heart, and mended my mind. I honestly cannot live without them.
I have wanted to write comic books, fantasy and science fiction novels, and other forms to entertain. I have explored grammar, syntax, semantics, and every other corner of language to shape what I hope are lasting works of beauty and pain. I have embarked on this path as a blogger and artist and one day hope to say this is my primary means of supporting myself as I continue to create. Even if it never is, I do so love this, and those that share in it.
I may never be famous, and probably not rich. That does not matter. What matters is I have this time with the words. They are my oldest, best friends, and I am so grateful for them. If he did nothing else for me, my father gave me that, and I thank him for it. I thank all of those who share in words, their own and others, to keep this written word going.
- Feed the Body and Nourish the Soul this Thanksgiving — Eat with an Attitude of Gratitude! (mindandoneness.com)
- Day 135. The power of words. (laurencarr.wordpress.com)
- Taking “V” Things With Gratitude (ptbertram.wordpress.com)
- Book Review: Wicked and Son of a Witch (goddessinthestacks.wordpress.com)