Reading And Writing

Reading has always made me want to write. Reading books that I love and words that draw the emotions from me make me want to write well. I've always loved to write even when I hated it i.e. reports for school. I knew how to make it fit and blend; the rhythm and cadence of words turning into thoughts, into pictures of the mind or soul. I feel like I'm stretching reaching out with my heart and forcing my brain to explain my reasons or feelings.

Obviously, I am in the middle of reading a wonderful book. The bittersweet kind about love and how even when it's lost there is always more to take its place... to fill the emptiness and hurt with tearful smiles.

But that's not the only kind of book I read. Science fiction is one of my favorites. My mother started me on it when I had finished reading most of what the library had to offer me. I was able to read and understand her books, but she felt that it wasn't appropriate for me. Meaning that there was sex in them there pages. Little did she know that a tremendous amount of Science Fiction is written by horny men. I got an education at an early age. I was only 10.

She started me off on Heinlein and from there I found my own way. Anthony, Asimov, L'Engle, Simak, Silverberg, LeGuin, Wells, Bradbury, Vinge were the ones I read in the beginning. Then I found the anthologies, stories that were Nebula winners, Asimov's Magazine, and I discovered new authors and read whatever I could get a hold of. Needless to say I have quite an extensive library, but I still haven't even read all the books on my list. I haven't finished reading Clarke, Ellison , Dick, Cherryh, but there's still time.

Those stories and books made all beings (people, animals and aliens) equal and everything, and anything seem possible. That anything is attainable if you can just figure out a way to make it work. Maybe that's why I don't give up when things get really rough.

Then I realized that these weren't just dreamers. These writers had created real worlds with sociological, and political implications with result to their dreams of science. My mind expanded again. Reading the classics in high school had so much more meaning to me now. I could also see similar storylines and plots but with different characters and endings.

My fingers itched to get everything down on paper, but as soon as I did I would rip it up and throw it out. I used to write letters to my favorite authors in my mind. Almost ready to send them I would then see that my writing was just a bad imitation of theirs. But how I wanted them to know what their words meant to me.

I actually had the opportunity to personally let an author know and I let it pass me by. I was with a friend (no longer) in Oz shopping for material so that I could be a bridesmaid in her wedding. Somewhere around the W. 30's and most of the stores were closed for the day. Maybe it was past five or on a weekend. It was summer still light out and hot. The block we were walking down was not shadowed by the walls of tall buildings. Just the two of us, and then passing right by... I could have (and should have) reached out my hand to touch him.

I couldn't speak for a few seconds. I stopped, and watched him move farther away. Finally out it came in one breath and a rush of words, "Doyouknowwhothatwas?" It didn't even register with my friend that someone had even passed us. "THAT'S KURT VONNEGUT!" Her response was, "Who?" At that point I should have realized that our friendship wasn't bound to last. Oh, how I wanted to run after him and gush my praises for his writing over his hunched frame suffocating him with my admiration. How many times had I read and re-read his books.

But I didn't. I let the opportunity pass. I was a different person then. Shy, timid, unsure of myself. Yeah, yeah I know, but it took me a very long time and A LOT of hard work to leave that CR behind.


When I discovered blogging it was like I was set free. No one really knew who I was and I could/can write whatever I want, and get feedback. I revel in it. It's freedom. I might just have to say that I've come to crave it... the sound of my fingers on the keys releasing tensions, thoughts, feelings. It comes close, but not as good as sex.

You really didn't think that I would post without mentioning my favorite three letter word.


btw-The Jazz Man invited me (ok, along with a lot of others) to hear him play Sat. night, but I was in Kansas. He's also playing this coming Thurs. night at Small's. Great music. I just wish I could go hear him.