For as long as I can remember...I've loved words. If the story is accurate, I've been reading since I was 4 years old. (I don't remember much from that long ago, so you'll have to ask those who were in charge back then, because I was just, you know...4.)
After high school, I started on the path toward being an accountant (following in someone else's footsteps), but soon realized that wasn't for me. So I set out on a different path, in the direction of journalism. Along the way, I encountered immovable boulders, downed tree limbs, and a mountain lion. It was not an easy path, for a number of reasons.
But even with those obstacles, I knew that eventually my path would contain words instead of numbers, cells or binary code.
Not that wordsmiths are better than accountants or biologists or computer geeks. In fact, I know people in all of these fields who are also better with words than 85 percent of the population, including me. And these people suck.
I kid the multi-talented.
I can't imagine a life without books to read, or notebooks to fill with thoughts, or a column to write, or a blog to ignore.
I'm thankful for my love of words.
"Actually, if a writer needs a dictionary, he should not write.
He should have read the dictionary at least three times from
beginning to end and then loaned it to someone who needs it. There are
only certain words which are valid and similes (bring me my dictionary)
are like defective ammunition (the lowest thing I can think of at this time).
—Ernest Hemingway
No comments:
Post a Comment