A while back my eldest son reposted this article from The Onion. Like a lot of satire, it is served with a dose of truth.
A week ago I proclaimed my intention to engage in a 30-Day Writing Challenge that a friend had posted, in addition to starting the November poem a day challenge that Robert Lee Brewer offers on his Poetic Asides blog.
Back to real life: I have a full-time job; it was Halloween; my son has been sick the past week; we have a new puppy.
Still and all, I do want to pursue my interest in the written word. Our poetry group met last Tuesday; prose group meets tonight, and I am going to catch up – come hell or high water.
The next writing challenge prompt is “your first love and first kiss, if separate, discuss both.”
Well, first kiss is easy and does not warrant discussion: David Hathaway at Wednesday night church when I was in 5th grade. He had braces. Enough said.
My first love is definitely books. I have read them; I hoard them; I copy lines from them; I write in them. If I could go back in time, I would retake my major in college in something to do with books. Yes, yes, I realize that the creator of this challenge is expecting romantic kind of love here, but to be honest, I don’t know that I have been in the really true world-stopping, heart-rending kind of love that everyone claims to want. I’ll stick with books for my answer.
Maybe a refinement of the plebeian answer “books” is “written word.” Reading all kinds of material is like wading around in a magical pool. Writing in all the genres available is fascinating and daunting and wonderful all at once.
So, reading and writing are my first love.