Reading, or the Lack Thereof

A very good friend recently drew my attention to the fact that I haven't been reading as much over the year as I had in the past. It was one of those "true facts" that take you a little by surprise when you notice them, and I started wondering why that is.

A huge reason that I've identified so far is that I get more deeply and easily annoyed by poor writing now that I understand the craft better. I've realized that it's probably good to be a little selective about what you develop expertise in. I'm not arguing that "ignorance is bliss", so much as realizing that there is value in being able to appreciate something on a very simple level. Once you begin to really learn all of its ins, outs, ups, downs, dos, don'ts, and details, it can be difficult to just sit back and enjoy it without analyzing and critiquing.

On the flip side, though, I've noticed that I now appreciate truly excellent writing so much more than I used to. Recently I was reading one of the early chapters of a new book. The author introduced an important new character with one sentence: "Charley Feavy was a short man with dark hair and perpetually dirty fingernails." That one sentence gave me such a clear, visceral picture of this character and his personality/behavior/role in the story that it really was all he needed to say. I spent 5 or 10 minutes just reading it and appreciating all of the craft and editing that most likely went into writing that one perfect description. Those small moments of deeper awareness and appreciation more than balance out all of the crap books that I put down and never pick up again these days.

Thunderstorms

There has been a thunderstorm churning outside since yesterday afternoon. Lightning keeps sparking in the distance, and you can feel the energy on your skin. Seems like the weather outside has caught up with my own atmosphere of late.

Everything has felt pressed together and rumbly lately, as if something is building, and all I can do is watch it build and wonder what is going on.

I can't exactly explain what I'm talking about, it's really just a feeling, but it's gotten intense enough to become distracting at times. Most of my life, from business to where I'm living to relationships and everything in between, is all potential energy just hanging around in the air, and it's been making me nervous.

I think I'm due for my own thunderstorm sometime soon, and I have no idea what my landscape will look like when the wind sets everything back down again.

It's been way too long, but I've been feeling blog-stuck, so here's a short little piece I wrote recently, just to get things moving again:


Fire is the Song. It is the leaping flower. It is rage, love, and hope, all of the things that smolder in the heart and fill the eyes. It is the wild, calling from the top of a mountain, the first flash of the dawn star. Sing, and the fire will come.

Water is the Dream. It is the sweeping fields awaiting harvest, the taste of the future on your tongue. It is the now and never-to-be. It is the un-graspable. It is deep breathing in a dark room. It is the midnight silver on the needles of fir trees. Dream, and the water will come.

Earth is the Memory. It is the thick-bowled oak tree. It is the endless turning, the never-changing, the deep rooted. It is the stillness before a question. It is the cool clay banks that guide the river. It is the all-swallowing roar of sudden anger, the grinding of boulders, the crashing of ancient trees. Remember, and the earth will come.

Wind is the Dance. It is the soaring, swift-winged kite hawk. It is the hidden whisper and the sudden shout, the brilliant flash of lightning that strikes and is gone. It is the great-pushing, the up-lifting, the rain-bringing. It is the quick smile and the swift embrace. Dance, and the wind will come.