I read articles written by avid writers and I turn green with envy. How are they able to marry simple words to create captivating stories? When do they get these inspirations? Could it be the many times they plunge themselves in volumes of literature? How do they play around with simplicity to form art through writing? If I was brave enough, I would make an effort to attend one of their book signings and have my curiosity quenched. Maybe if I engage them I will receive the wave of energy that passes through their veins as their hand meets paper.
Some women, sadly, don’t understand the fascination with enthusiastic readers. I used
to be one of those. I never could get how someone could turn down a shopping date
to curve themselves in their blankets and undress a story, page by page. I was
not born with talent, at least not any I know of. Thank goodness for acquisition
of skills. I first gained interest in books when I discovered how intelligent women
often buried themselves in books, either to add on to their pool of knowledge
or for simple entertainment. I did always admire these type of women. They rarely
looked at the fashion columns in magazines, but dived straight into the feature
stories. They became a bubble of excitement whenever they came across a best-selling
novel, whether romantic or fiction. They beamed when a person with similar
interest in books approached them. They would get lost in their own world as
they discussed characters I had no clue about and analysed writing styles used
by authors. When jargon were thrown around, a tint of shame and sadness would
always cloud my face as I just sat there most times, nodding my head in unison with
the rest to remain relevant as an active participant. Oh, did I mention this
was when I joined a book club with no clue whatsoever how much books could
emotionally affect readers.
When
I met Kate, I finally understood the power a good book had on its readers, especially
when it came to self-motivational books. It was the Bible of depressed people
who would go through transformational change just by setting eyes on the first
chapter. I requested Kate to supply me with books that would charge my interest
in literature to see if my fate lay in writing. My Oh My! The first book I was
handed was Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi. Of course I was sceptic of the content at
first since I was not much of a feminist. In fact, I was ashamed of admitting
that I had never heard of Chimamanda until I read her book. My mind sipped into
the pages of the book, feeling exposed with each page I turned. I would have
been a tint away from turning pink, if I wasn’t of a dark complexion. All I needed
was a passionate activist with an objective mind to get me to understand the essence
of fighting for opportunities for women in a patriarchal world. On learning the
possibilities that would be present if women were embraced as much as men,
appreciated, honored and empowered, we would be living in a much sane world. Now
I am just digressing, It primarily focuses on racism in America. Well I looked at it from a feminist aspect.
Kate
did not stop here. She would drop off more books at my house over the weekend
as she enthusiastically gave me a synopsis of each book. Her eyes with each
narrative. Just as she had predicted, my mind was soon lost in the words of the
authors, leaving me hanging onto the
promise each character made in the books, or empathising with the victims in the
narrations. It all began making sense. You get plunged into the author’s
hypothetical world. You thirst to reach their point of enlightenment in a world
they have brought to life, knowing very well it will all end as you draw near
to the last chapter. You soon begin to see the author’s perspective on life and
before you know it, you want to help them write sequels!
Authors have the gift of
undressing your thoughts and clothing you with new imagination. They get you
hooked and somehow tie you to the pages with words put together in an artistic way.
I am yet to get a fancy way to make you understand what I mean. Some endings
are great, some you hate and if they get you too emotional, you slam the book into
a wall hoping hidden chapters will fall off and satisfy your crave for a happy
ending.
After this, I honestly don’t know what to write. I love books now and I hope to write captivating volumes one day. So, I will keep writing until I turn into a fine writer. Until I get the readers raging or smiling. Join me on my journey.