Realizations

I was reading a soon-to-be-published novel by a first-time writer this afternoon, and admiring his writing style when it suddenly struck me…not quite with the almost-physical blow of a full-blown epiphany, but with the slow flush of awareness…of something that sets me (in my own mind at least) apart from most other writers—not a vertical difference, as in one being superior to the other, but more a lateral one; two different roads through a story.

Whereas most writers in effect “paint” their books—I’ll explain in a second—I talk mine. Their stories are frequently like a pointillist painting…the overall story being presented as the sum of tiny visual images, and I frequently stand in awe of them. My books are for the most part largely devoid of vivid imagery, and what there is generally has the appearance of being created not with a fine sable brush but a the kind of roller used to paint walls. My books are largely one-sided conversations with the reader, of whose presence I am always acutely aware. (That is why it is so important to me to know that my books are indeed actually being read. It’s rather like seeing two people walking down the street apparently talking to themselves: one has a cell phone, the other doesn’t. I hope I’m the one with the cell phone, and you’re on the other end. If you’re not, I’m talking to myself.)

Of course this one-sided-conversation approach is made easier in the Dick Hardesty Mystery series by the fact that it is written in the first person: Dick is talking directly to you. The same is true of these blogs: I’m addressing myself directly to you. But perhaps one result of growing so used to writing as though I’m talking is that even my third-person writings…Calico and the upcoming His Name is John and Someday Soon are largely devoid of much visual embellishment. I do use similes and metaphors frequently, but they are done with a few quick strokes of very broad-tipped pen, not a stylus.

I fully realize that I will never be considered a “literary” writer: no War and Peace or Grapes of Wrath in my future; no New York Times best seller lists, but that’s fine. The only thing I want or have ever wanted is that people will be reading my words long after I am dragged kicking and screaming to the shore of the River Styx and thrown onto Charon’s barge.

While it is admittedly difficult to have a conversation with someone who is not in a position to engage in a direct back-and-forth, I do hope you have the sense that in everything I write, I am really talking to you rather than at you. All of which leads back to my perhaps-too-often-referenced insecurities and my desire for you to not only get to know me, but to like me. Hokey as it sounds, I do consider every reader…you…as a potential friend, whether we’ve ever actually met or not.

The title of this entry is “Realizations” and, with a mind as unruly as mine seems to be, I'm constantly realizing things that I've never really thought about before. And since I am quite sure that, because we go through life living only within ourselves, we tend to assume that we are unique in areas of thought and emotion in which we, in fact, are not. It’s just that inner thoughts and emotions are generally kept within ourselves to the point that we are seldom aware that they are a commonality between us rather than something that isolates us from others.
Oh, dear…I seem to be sliding into pontification, here, so that must mean it’s time to wrap it up for today. Your patience in bearing with me when I wander off is greatly appreciated. But, patience is one of the marks of friendship, and I’ll gladly take it!
-------------

This blog is from Dorien's collection of blogs written after his book, “Short Circuits,” available from UntreedReads.com and Amazon.com, was published. That book is also available as an audio book from Amazon/Audible.com. I am looking at the possibility of publishing a second volume of blogs. The blogs now being posted are from that tentative collection. You can find information about all of Dorien's books at his web site: www.doriengrey.com.