I'd like to extend a special SOV welcome to someone whose writing has the ability to transport me into his world, to make me cry, to make me think.
Thank you for coming on the blog,
Many thanks to Angie for her invitation to talk about what inspires my writing.
Short answer: the magic of words.
I began reading
early, and early discovered the power of words to transport me, to show me the
world in new ways, to take me to places unknown. I didn't begin churning out
stories as a kid, as many seem to do. I absorbed and observed. I read, not just
for the stories, but for the magic of the words themselves.
I've always read slowly. To me, a joy of reading is in the
rhythm and color of beautifully constructed sentences, of images that startle
me with their clarity, that cause me to read a sentence or paragraph over again
just to immerse myself in it. I always will stop to smell the roses.
My early years as the son of a Presbyterian minister whose
father had been a missionary to Korea, where my father was born, exposed me to
a world of music, art, and spirituality. I played piano, and later, guitar and
other folk instruments. I learned the power of art in its many forms to move
people. And I learned, as I grew through school, that I had a talent with
words.
For a brief time, I taught high school English, and my
greatest reward (maybe the only one) came from seeing my kids awaken to their
own power with words. I assigned controversial topics for essays and drew
stories out of them. Convince me, I said. Make me believe.
Somewhere along the way, in college (isn't that where it
always happens?) I began to question dogma. New possibilities, worlds beyond worlds,
unseen forces teased me to look, to wonder.
I wrote songs. Love songs. Songs of social protest. I used
the power of words to influence, to move, and to entertain. I wrote poetry,
unstudied, free, spontaneous, and the world around me became a live canvas from
which to draw.
I'm moved to write because I can. Because the world is a
huge, fascinating, terrifying place. A place of ecstasy and sorrow, of heroism
and cowardice, of generosity and love and cold, hard malice. And I've come to feel that we who write have a
power to inspire the better aspects of our humanity while seeing all the colors
and shying from none. We can entertain. We can offer distraction from pain. We
can paint with words. We can show the strength of love in the unlikeliest
circumstances.
If, with my use of words, I can transport a reader to a new
place, make her look up from the page in an "oh, wow" moment, or
cringe in horror, or laugh, or cry, then I've worked a bit of magic.
I'm in awe. Loads of talents, writing being but one. And I love those last lines: "The pen may well be mightier than the sword. In good hands, it's a magician's wand."
ReplyDeleteThanks so much, Joyce.
DeleteWell, dang. Thanks so much, Joyce. :-)
ReplyDeleteRef: The pen may well be mightier than the sword. In good hands, it's a magician's wand.
ReplyDeleteIn the hands of a young, growing "boy who lived", a wand saved the world. Perhaps the pen can do the very same. I like that idea :-)