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.