I thought once again about how learning history is, yes, about broadly knowing “big events”; but more important is drilling down to contextualize them and seeking better to understand those lives lived before ours.
I admit I adore some of those “who” I write, and my hope is that over the course of a book that a reader comes to do so as well.
How DO I write? This way: I write cover to cover in a style that I enjoy reading…
I think about all I’ve published, as well as what I am writing. I’m chatty and often casual on a free blog post like this. To me, my blog here is talking over a coffee, or something harder…
As I sat at the man’s desk, my father-in-law next to me, as she stood a couple of feet away she asked next: “Really? What are you doing here?”
Back to the actual point to the day: Kids having access to books. A love of reading is one of the best habits one can instill in a child. I saw my parents regularly reading for relaxation.
Seriously, I’m not inherently anti-social or excessively aloof, or inclined to hermit-hood. I’ve been told (more than once) in person that I’m actually a pleasant person. I’m also “socially” NOT my uncle.
The more I write, the more I feel what I write is often a product of what has happened to me that I could not entirely control – memorable people, unexpected events, new ideas, and intriguing experiences and exchanges. All of us also occasionally feel ignorant, out of our depth, and even stupid…
“Today is your birthday. Actually, it was February 29… and that was you. Of course you were born on a leap year. You couldn’t have had just an ordinary day every year like the rest of us.”
As for you visitors, and especially, followers. I can’t follow everyone back who follows me. However, don’t think I don’t notice you have been here.
I was also proofreading yesterday and I thought once more about the fact I am yet again unsure and uncomfortable about some of the things I have written, and I am writing about, in a manuscript. But that is also an aim. We should be unsure and uncomfortable at times in both our writing and in our reading.
Here, just north of London, may I at least have a cup of coffee first, I just woke up. My personal view in the face of all of this now increasingly may be summed up in six words: “I don’t know, I wasn’t there.”
It’s not the history so much as the fiction that lights up the pages.
I have said here previously that I don’t count words when I write. (I disagree with the idea of measuring “progress” by daily “bean counting.”) I don’t even really look at page numbers. Early on in a manuscript especially, I just write and write and write.
Ladies, your man may want to say something extra-special to you today, but he may not be able to find the right words. Be understanding, please. It has always been such with many of us men.