November 27, 2024
I’m not sure how it happened,
but I realized some time ago that I hadn’t read a book in a few months. Months!
Not that long ago I would have described myself as an avid reader. Now, I’m not
so sure that label can apply to me.
Of course, I understand that
on any given day I read a lot—just not in book (or eBook) form. Now, in the
interest of complete transparency, I should tell you that I do begin each day
with time spent in the Bible. I end each day that way, too. This is a long-standing habit that I look
forward to and consider a blessing, and not a chore. I could compare the habit
to a pilot checking out their plane before daring to get in and fly.
I do spend a fair bit of time
on the internet, and as you know, that can involve a lot of reading, too. I look around to see how life is going for
some of my friends who live far away, see if there are any amusing headlines—I do
avoid those that seem too heavy. As an author I must try to keep my finger on
the pulse of current events, trends and culture, and I find that scanning
various sources online is an efficient way to accomplish that.
Using the internet is where I
go if, during the course of my day, questions arise for which I have no
answers. I sometimes liken Mr. Google to an old-time encyclopedia, only one
that is constantly updated.
However, sometimes trying to
satisfy one’s curiosity can turn into a rabbit-hole of its own. For that
reason, unless I’m looking up how to do something specific, I tend to stay away
from YouTube until about an hour before bedtime. It’s the second to last thing
I use my brain for each day.
But what I’ve not been doing
lately, (and what sent us down this particular garden path today) is picking up
a novel, written by someone else, to simply sit and read and enjoy the journey.
A book must have only two
criteria for me to indulge in its essence. The subject matter must interest me,
and it must be well written.
“All right, Morgan.
How do you define well written?”
I’m so glad you asked! For a story
to be well written is, I grant you, a subjective thing and different for each
reader. The author should have a sound grasp of language, and the skills needed
to create a story with a beginning and a middle and an end that, knitted
together, make some kind of sense.
And yes, dear reader, all
those rules you learned in school about grammar, syntax and such, do matter,
and even more so if you’re writing a book. I am a terrible speller at times. But
I make very few spelling mistakes in my work, because I know how bad a speller
I am, and I check this carefully.
Well written means that I
become invested and care about the characters I’m reading about. And the plot
must be cleverly seeded and executed.
When a story is not well
written, one is pulled out of it by the errors, the absurdity, the whatever, and
that is a very jarring experience.
The reason I insist that the
books I read for pleasure, especially when I am in the midst of writing one of
my own, be well-written may seem silly. Or superstitious. But I’ll tell you
about it, because eventually we’ll get to the point.
If I read a book that is not
well written, I—fear? —worry? —that it will infect the quality of my own work.
Not that I think my work is so much better than everyone else’s, far from it.
But it is better than some out there, and my goal, as an author is aiming for
better, not worse.
So, I haven’t been reading for
a long time. But I have been watching too much news and investing my emotional
energy where it doesn’t belong—in places where I have no power to effect change.
And then, one afternoon, while I was trying to figure out how to quit that
habit, I turned off the television and I opened a book.
And I rediscovered the pleasure
of simply letting go my day-to-day grind and sinking into a world where, while
there may be trials and tribulations, there are also moments of a skillfully
crafted and eminently satisfying resolution. And in between the beginning and
the end, there will be a smattering of loving and living and yearning…connections,
if you will, to humanity. One can feel immersed in community and can identify
kindred spirits—all without leaving home.
It does seem ironic to me as I
write this, that I had to rediscover the magic I was missing. Because the reason
I kept pushing on, writing despite the emotional toll of pandemic and wars, was
to provide my own dear readers with a small, but sincere offered escape hatch within
my own books.
Love,
Morgan
http://www.bookstrand.com/morgan-ashbury
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