All posts tagged: Reading

The Artist’s Way

I’ve always known that I loved to write. From the moment, I could spell a few words, I wrote and drew stories. I loved it – and I still do. Writing makes my heart sing. I have recently worked with Julia Cameron and The Artist’s Way, which – if you don’t already know it – is a 12-week course in living with a greater sense of creativity. There is a short chapter to each week with a given focus and a number of exercises. Some of them, I have loved like delicate poetry and others, I slung cusswords at like a drunken sailor. However, I have learned a little something – or remembered a little something from each of them. The Artist’s Way is exhilarating in a way which defies description. It is like meeting the love of your life for the second time – you know, after you let him slip away the first time. The Artist’s Way is by no means an easy path. I have laughed, cried, and raged on my path …

Words, words, words

I often emphasize a book’s story as the primary feature of a given book. The story is the initial joy in a reading experience, especially when it draws the reader in and along for the ride. However, in deconstructing a book, it all comes down to words. A story is in essence one word after the other. In some stories, the words are simply the medium of communication, but in other stories, the words themselves are an art form. These stories beg to be read slowly with minute concentration or even read aloud. Many books that achieve that lyrical quality are written in bygone times, before the speedy writing on computer keyboards, before autocorrect, and without the competition of TV and the internet. The old-fashioned words and their voluptuousness are part of these books’ charm. The term ”slower times” is on my lips, and perhaps there is a modicum of truth to that term. There was no constant word count to strive for and perhaps more emphasis on finding that specific word with all the …

Closer look

Take a closer look. Behind the dusty facades, magical worlds unfold. Flecks of dust dance in slanted rays. Light illuminates slices of the interior, moving from left to right. This magical world exists undisturbed and in silence. Hold your breath. Be truly present. You will hear the faint whispers from faraway. They bear witness of extraordinary happenings. Pain. Sorrow. Death. Birth. Joy. Love. Go ahead, step inside. Feel the wooden floor creak beneath your soles. Run your fingers over the spines, holding worlds together, until you make your choice. Take a closer look, and delve into a magical world.  

Revival

As with a good bottle of red wine, sometimes stories need time to mature. In fact, that is true for many things in life. Some things cannot be rushed without detriment to the finished result or the process. As the writer or creator, it is alpha and omega to listen to the tiny gutsy squeak, telling you to take a break, before mulling things over again, and finally, doing what needs to be done. And sometimes, life just gets in the way. In my experience, life is synonymous with work, work, work, and it has been an exciting roller coaster ride, albeit far away from books, stories, and writing. Louise’s Home Library and the many unread books therein, have rested for months now. At times, I’ve even wondered if the chapter, which featured Louise’s Home Library, was over, but at other times, I have tip-toed into my library and reminded myself of all the stories and reading experiences I have to look forward to. And here I am now. I’ve grown in the last couple …

Binge reading

Binge reading, yes, there is such a thing and I’ve landed – splat! –  right in the middle of the puddle. Perhaps, I’ve exchanged one binge-worthy addiction with another as a consequence of my new year’s resolution. Reading is presumably healthier than copious amounts of chocolate, but as self-indulgent luxury binge-anything isn’t the brightest idea. In the hypothesis, binge reading sounds like the ultimate goal for an avid reader. The mere thought of gulping down book after book after book makes me feel all tingly, but the reality of binge reading is quite another. I’m not talking about that book which engrosses you to the degree where you mourn its loss as you turn the last page. I’m talking about reading books so hastily and without any true commitment that you can’t remember the plot, let alone the names of the main characters, once you’ve read the last page. And even then, you merely shrug it off, and grab the next book. That is the puddle, I talking about. There are situations where binge reading …