My writing habit was disrupted first by a trip to Florida in February followed by a nasty cold in March but during that time I picked up a new habit - reading. I mean the type of reading which is greedy. Reading that you cannot get enough of. Reading that teaches and informs your writing.
Intent on a DIY MFA, I have taken up the practice of annotating my reading. This has slowed my progress through material, but it has enhanced the overall experience. Annotating reveals the floss running through and uncovers the author's unique style, use of language, subtleties and undertones. It has deepened my appreciation for those writers who wield the techniques of craft like magicians. Their use of details is just enough to suck you into scene and to make you care. Two stories may exist - the one written in words and one that is felt, and meaning, intuited like an undercurrent tugging at your feet.
What follows is my first attempt at moving my writing muscles again:
What is it to be a man?
To love. To lose. To struggle. To overcome. To stumble and to fall.
To want and to be wanted. To be left, wanting.
To pine. To hope and to dream.
To disappoint and to be disappointed.
To be uncertain and unknowing.
To know. To own. To give.
To hate and be hated, if only out of pain.
To seek. To fulfill and be fulfilled.
To be hungry. To be satiated. To be bloated and gassy.
To feel wretched, ugly and undesirable.
To feel passionate. To feel alone.
To comfort and to be comforted.
To help and to hinder.
To grieve. Nothing is as lonely as grief.
To praise and rarely, be praised.
To succeed and to fail.
To doubt and be doubted.
To be truthful. To lie, mostly to one-self.
To fear - so many things. Fear, the root of man's misdeeds and unfulfilled potential.
Intent on a DIY MFA, I have taken up the practice of annotating my reading. This has slowed my progress through material, but it has enhanced the overall experience. Annotating reveals the floss running through and uncovers the author's unique style, use of language, subtleties and undertones. It has deepened my appreciation for those writers who wield the techniques of craft like magicians. Their use of details is just enough to suck you into scene and to make you care. Two stories may exist - the one written in words and one that is felt, and meaning, intuited like an undercurrent tugging at your feet.
What follows is my first attempt at moving my writing muscles again:
What is it to be a man?
To love. To lose. To struggle. To overcome. To stumble and to fall.
To want and to be wanted. To be left, wanting.
To pine. To hope and to dream.
To disappoint and to be disappointed.
To be uncertain and unknowing.
To know. To own. To give.
To hate and be hated, if only out of pain.
To seek. To fulfill and be fulfilled.
To be hungry. To be satiated. To be bloated and gassy.
To feel wretched, ugly and undesirable.
To feel passionate. To feel alone.
To comfort and to be comforted.
To help and to hinder.
To grieve. Nothing is as lonely as grief.
To praise and rarely, be praised.
To succeed and to fail.
To doubt and be doubted.
To be truthful. To lie, mostly to one-self.
To fear - so many things. Fear, the root of man's misdeeds and unfulfilled potential.
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