I remember way back to a time I was ten, eleven, in that neighborhood, at least.
My dad had a manual labor job for twenty years. He left the house every morning by six, so I rarely saw him as he headed out to work. For some reason though, one morning, I staggered into the kitchen at some ungodly hour and Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in front of him, and he was holding a Louis L’amour paperback. It was an odd scene for me. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my dad read a book. Dad had dropped out of high school as a sophomore, during the depths of the Great Depression, and never did return. He signed up to fight in World War 2, got married in 1945, and started the next chapter of his life as breadwinner and family pillar. To see him reading was inconsistent with everything I had seen before.
I mumbled “good morning, Dad,” and sat down at the table. “Whatcha reading?”
“Just an old beat-up copy of a western, Bill. I like to read in the mornings. It’s a good way to start my day, take my mind off things, that kind of stuff. I like the quiet of the early mornings, a good cup of coffee, and some entertainment before I head to work. There’s never any time for reading once my day begins.”
I’ve never forgotten those words. Even for a man like my father, a person who would never be labeled an intellectual, reading provided entertainment and gave him some peace of mind before his day began. I try to remember that when I write an article or a novel. What I do matters. What all of us writers do matters. We entertain. We provide an escape from the mundane, and we provide an exit strategy from the worries of the day.
Don’t ever think what you are doing is not important. I don’t care if you write novels or you write blogs only, what you do matters. In this day and age of instant sound bites, purported fake news, and unsupported hearsay, what we do is damned important.
Bill
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”
Billybuc
Artistry With Words 