I became a writer because of my great aunt. Struck down with juvenile rheumatoid arthritis at a time when such a diagnosis made one a prisoner in one's own body, she travelled the world transported on a magic carpet of words that painted pictures of places and people more vividly than any moving picture camera could as the words allowed for interpretation and the reader's imagination to fill in the blanks of the tableaux described.
Her library was literally her world and I had the key. I wanted to read, I needed to read and as I fell under the spell of Dickens, Thesiger, Hawthorne, Waugh and the like my desire to see the world and truly inhabit it grew. I continued to be a voracious reader during my preteen years, graduating quickly from my beloved Pookie through the Famous Five, Hardy Boys and the entire Enid Blyton and Richard Scarry canons to what were referred to as 'big boy' books and the immortal, treasured Reader's Digest.
Reader's Digest will always hold a special place in my heart as it is in those pages that I learned what writing was. As a child I became consumed by Drama in Real Life and would hurriedly rush to the back of the book to read the Condensed story. The writing in the magazine was different to what I had known writing to be, which could be pretty much summed up as story telling. The writing in Reader's Digest was my introduction to feature writing, the journalistic equivalent of the short story. The pacing and economy of words enthralled me making me a lifelong aficianado of the shorter forms of written expression.
Another great childhood joy was the availability of not only the magazine but the bound "Reader's Digest Condensed Books' which were like the jackpot for my imagination. I spent many a Sunday visiting my Appo and lying with her on her bed reading, sounding out words new to me and asking questions of context and history. I miss her now, her voice like that of an oracle informing and guiding me through to the future when I could see the world through my own eyes.
The real treasure that Reader's Digest held for me though was the Word Power feature. Each month I would pick up the magazine excited to pit my ever increasing vocabulary against those of the Editors. From an early age, I understood that my vocabulary was unusual in its scope and it was rare for the Digest to stump me, all this because I was a reader.
I became a writer almost as soon as I became an adult, spending my currency, my words, in pursuit of someone else's dreams for the security of a paycheck - the dedication to craft being subsumed by the need to eat and provide for my family. The introduction to power came early though, from the outset I realised that in the combination of my right hand and brain lay the power to persuade, cajole, entertain, affect and empathise - the power to create. I have spent the last 20 years creating illusion and alternate realities for the highest bidder, age bringing not reason but cynicism at a power wasted, pictures unpainted, pages blank.
In the last year, I have come back to my words full on, writing for me and for those few who choose to read. It has been very liberating and enjoyable to express myself and my emotions on the page and to receive feedback and criticism and to join in a community of writers and storytellers. The one thing that has been very eye opening for me though has been the power of my words.
With nothing to do and the whole weekend to do it in, I spent some of the last two days perusing the Chronicles and reading the comments that you have left. These comments have spanned the mundane almost canned acknowledgment of the effort to critical analysis of the pieces. They have let me understand that you see me for who I am, a flawed, hurt, optimistic, romantic. They have let me see that my use of the language can touch and persuade you.
The pieces I wrote last week about my burgeoning 'relationship' with my cyberfriend prompted a coupla unexpected responses. One of my few avid male readers sent me an email with an hypothesis as to her identity. He was bang on and I would like to thank him for his discretion of using email as opposed to the comments to make the hypothesis. Smirkdirk is convinced that "Dude, you're totally gonna score." I suppose that I painted a picture that at once painted her clear enough for those who want to see to see; but left enough for the power of suggestion to play an active role.
This is why I love words. Everyone gets something different from them and it is this interpretation of the writer's intent that makes us unique as individuals - we process words through the filter of our lives. So thanks again for taking the time to read my words and share your images with me, this is how I come to know your world and for that I am grateful.
Sticks and stones may break my bones...but my words, my words they shape me.
Image from: http://www.boardgamebeast.com/images/super-word-power-game.jpg
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1 comments:
I used to love Reader's Digest as a kid and young teenager myself (the magazine, not the condensed books). The Drama in Real Life, and the Life in the United States were among my favorite items. My Grandmother renewed our family subscription Christmas after Christmas.
However, I recall vividly when I turned on it like a vicious dog. I was probably about 16 or 17. It was when they were experimenting with a feature called "That's Outrageous" which may or may not have been successful because I pretty much wrote the entire magazine off after that. "That's Outrageous" would feature things like the million-dollar-I-spilled-McDonald's-coffee-on-myself lawsuit, and other button-pushing injustices. Unfortunately for Reader’s Digest there were a few “That’s Outrageous” items that I had encountered elsewhere, and knew that Reader’s Digest was only telling half the story. That often, what seemed outrageous on the surface, once all the facts were in, was actually not that outrageous after all. Reader’s Digest would tend to omit these facts or never do a follow-up.
That particular feature taught me about words used as propaganda, words used to tell only the side of the story you want, words used to sell a conservative message of fear and hate.
I think I still sorta smart from that betrayal, when really it was nothing of sort - more of just an awakening to the reality that reality itself is molded and distorted by the philosophical/political lens through which we choose to see it.
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