Hello, dear reader! I trust you are well and having a fabulous day? If not, then I am sorry for your condition of body or mind, whichever happens to be plaguing you this day, and hope you feel better soon. I have been thinking a lot lately about what I would like to accomplish in my lifetime. Do you ever think about those things? Is there anything you say to yourself, “If I do nothing else, I would love to _______”; feel free to fill in the blank. I would like to write a book. My husband has been encouraging me to write one but I haven’t the foggiest idea what to write about or in what style. My tendency toward waxing eloquent in my writing is the style of old and I fear went out of fashion long ago.
If only I lived in the days when books were actually considered literature, as in the days of Anne (decidedly with an “E”) Shirley. I can identify with little Miss Shirley for I, too, think in depths of tone with descriptions dripping from paragraphs (see what I mean?). I have a hard time tearing myself away from this tendency for when my fingers start to strike the keys of my generic black keyboard they become rebellious and refuse to do as I command. Generally, when I make an effort to change the way my thoughts express themselves in print, the product seems bland and lacking ingredients; like attempting to make brownies without chocolate. Oh, to live in a time when writers composed literary symphonies with their sonnets and novels. We live in a time when people prefer to turn off their brains when they pick up a book and authors who can barely conjure sentences containing proper grammar and punctuation are the lauded norm. Do not think for a moment, darling, I believe my own writing worthy to be mentioned in the same breath as the classics I adore. I simply wish I were in a time when such works were appreciated by the masses as everyday reading and not relinquished almost exclusively to be the subjects of dissertations by the depleting ranks of Classic Literature students; then at least my style might have been appreciated in a magazine or newspaper as a space-filler. Oh well.
So, I will attempt to practice a more simplified style and chop down the metaphors. Maybe tackling a mystery or suspense story would help harness my willful fingers; it would seem strange for a thrilling plot to be coupled with such imagery, would it not? What do you think, dearest? What should I write?