Hold on to your knickers, I have an announcement that’s sure to make even the most ladylike lose function of a vital organ or three. I’ve been reading.
Not in a facebook-status or magazine advice column kind of way, but in a way that mimics the focus and precision of a surgeon. Pen steady in hand. Pupils allowing just the right amount of light into interlacing tubes. My brain, it glows, buzzes even, in the most active state it’s known since high school Calculus. None of that Kindle shit, I hold my book in hand, smell its long-lived life and scrutinize its innards for a good long while at a time.
You see, I’m becoming a writer because writing is becoming on me.
And in my last mass, I focused on diction that wasn’t quite familiar. Circled it, underlined it, listed it out to create stories and fold each acquaintance into the next day’s dough. Kneading as necessary. Rolling as is so assuredly required. Maybe it’s my upcoming trip to France, maybe it’s the hardwood floors that are soon to be mine to have and to hold, to rent and to build a home upon. Either way, I loved this new-to-me German word immediately.