When I was younger I drew epic starfighter battles, enchanted weapons, embellished writing with symbols and lightning bolts and so on. I remember bringing a sketch of our cat to school for show and tell.
As I grew older I started drawing up homemade birthday cards for people. My technique improved over the years. My designs grew more imaginative. I wasn't a great artist, but I wasn't bad either.
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| Cue nostalgia. |
But over time, my enthusiasm waned. Drawing became a chore. I finally stopped because more and more, it seemed like a waste of time.
Now, before I go on: I hold everyday artists* in the highest regard. There are countless examples of artwork inspiring me in roundabout ways. From eye-catching book covers, to great stories born from comics, to the sketches and illustrations that give rise to epic movies and video games.
I actually own a book of the concept art for The Lord of the Rings movies. Did you know literally thousands of pieces of artwork were produced to establish the look and feel of Middle-Earth? I had no idea.
If you're an artist, I salute you. The world needs people like you. I'm just not one of them.
I'm still proud of my drawings. Whatever passion I had could probably be reignited. But it just isn't a priority - my free time is limited. I'd still be spending hours on something people will only look at for a few minutes at most.
And the irony, of course, is that that's exactly what I'm doing right now.
We all make choices about what we do with our lives, and what not to do with them. I admire all the artists out there. But I choose to be a writer - because the other half of writing is reading. And the fact that you're reading this makes it all worthwhile.
The written word has inspired me in many, many ways. So much so that at some point I thought, what if I could do this too? Maybe, if I caused even a single person to feel something greater than themselves, it'd be worth it. Maybe I could make the world a better place.
Maybe that person is you.
Today I'm talking about why I love to read.
Now, as I mentioned before, I like books and video games because they both offer a sense of immersion. But video games are still a visual medium. Indeed, big-budget games often resemble interactive movies. At the very least, I can't really claim not to watch TV when the games I play are...you know...on a TV.
My point is that you're still on the outside looking in. Reading bridges that gap. It places you on the inside.
I remember my first time reading Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. During the students' first flying lesson, Malfoy mocks an injured boy, steals something of his and then flies away on a broomstick. (He's already learned how.) Recklessly, Harry takes off after him, and discovers something amazing.
He doesn't need lessons. Harry can fly himself.
In this, he's found something he's instinctively good at. His friends cheer. His rival is stunned. And the aerial action that follows is filled with wonder, intensity, jubilation as we share the glow of that moment where he realizes: I can fly.
It's one of my favourite parts in the series.**
And then I saw the movie, and it just wasn't the same. I was watching him fly, not flying with him. That made all the difference.
In Stephen King's On Writing - yes, I read non-fiction too; what do you take me for? - the author compares writing and reading to telepathy: directing thoughts from one mind to another. It's not perfect, of course. Details are sacrificed. The writer's style and vocabulary interfere. The reader forms their own interpretation.
But to paraphrase Rick Riordan, author of the Percy Jackson books: the greatest special effects are the ones inside your head.
My second reason is more personal. I'm an introvert. One definition of introversion is finding more stimulation inside our heads than anywhere else. Sounds about right. Growing up, I spent a huge amount of time in books...and it gave me a reputation.
I grew up homeschooled, and I'm not sure many people ever saw the work I did. Yet I noticed a pattern. My family seemed to think I was quite intelligent, learned fast and could generally do mental gymnastics, because I read so much.
I understand this is pretty common, actually.
And, um, no. It's not true. Yes, I can occasionally pull out relevant random facts. I can count in my head because I was bad at math and pushed myself to do so much of the working mentally that some of it stuck. I was an average student overall.
I remember picking up a cousin's college biology book - I was fourteen - and hearing her telling others in the room: look what he's reading. My internal response was: so what? If anything, I thought I was getting in over my head.
But I liked the praise.
See, I doubt I got as much out of reading as people assumed. But I have gotten a lot out of it. Knowledge of the English language, certainly. Knowledge in general - though by now I know practical experience is just as important as theory. The desire to start writing in the first place. Speed enough to impress the uninitiated.
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| 185,000 words, 528 pages, 24 hours. |
I guess what I'm trying to say is - it's a part of who I am. I'm the one who always wants books for my birthdays. (Christmas too.) The one who actually hangs out at the library. I'm someone who reads.
And I'm proud of that.
Ah, but wait. There is something else I've gotten out of books. Something I think you too - everyone, in fact, should be getting.
I finished Michael Benanav's Men of Salt a few weeks ago. It's the author's account of how he joined a camel caravan travelling to and from Saharan salt mines in a part of the world where salt was once worth its weight in gold, and is still used as currency today. It's a good book. I recommend it.
But what really drew me in was the culture clash between the American author and his Tuareg companions. The author finding the desert starkly beautiful, while the nomads find beauty only in greener lands. A nomad chieftain finding a disposable lighter, made only to be thrown away, 'the dumbest thing he'd ever heard of'.
Or - and this one made me laugh - the author inviting his new friends to ask about America and expecting questions about how many cars people owned. I don't mean to insult the intelligence of either side. It just struck me as so very Western to think salt miners in the Sahara would care about cars at all - for context, camels are still the primary mode of transportation. They asked what kind of animals Americans had in their deserts.
I've always been annoyed by people holding narrow-minded beliefs when they really have no idea. Yet I do this too, more often than I'd like. I make stupid assumptions that turn out to be dead wrong. It's only human. Our viewpoints are naturally narrow.
So we should widen them as much as possible.
Even more than knowledge, I value perspective. Allowing differing viewpoints to inform our own. That, I think, is a sign of true maturity.
The best way to do that is actual travel. But I would argue that reading is the next best thing. Telepathy, remember? It helps you to think the thoughts of someone else.
I hope you've enjoyed a taste of mine.
*By this I meant animators, illustrators, cartoonists and so on; people whose work I can appreciate. For artists who produce Art, of the kind you see in galleries: I guess they should be appreciated too. But I can't say that we're acquainted.
**I'd be a Ravenclaw. Just sayin'.
No, really. I guessed I'd be a Ravenclaw, took an online test, and I was right. If that's not justification, I don't know what is.
Though it's not that simple. Out of curiosity, I went back and changed a single answer I wasn't sure about. I got Hufflepuff. I found a more comprehensive test - go on, you know you want to - and found that most of my answers were split evenly between the two. But I did have a silght preference for Ravenclaw. This matches the more traditional personality results I got years ago - melancholic-phlegmatic - so I wasn't really surprised.
Amusingly, what must have tipped me over the edge was the question asking what House you'd want, added specifically for borderline types like Harry himself. I got Ravenclaw because I chose Ravenclaw. That's fine with me. What did I just say about our choices defining us? Harry chose not to be in Slytherin, after all.
