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Let’s talk literary this morning. I have had more people lately asking me about “my” book than you can shake a stick at. They want to know when I’m writing one. Or when am I going to put my little blurbs into book form.
You don’t know how much I appreciate the sentiments. It truly honors, and humbles me. But let’s get something perfectly straight here…
John Milton could write a book. His prose, grasp of word usage, graphic descriptions made “Paradise Lost” leap off the page at the reader. The thought provoking subject matter didn’t hurt either. In “Paradise Regained” Milton wrote “childhood shows the man as morning shows the day”.
I couldn’t touch that with my absolute best effort!
Ernest Hemingway could write a book. He jots down a simple tale of a Cuban fisherman hooking a “big one” while thinking about baseball great, Joe DiMaggio. You can feel the saltwater splashing over you. Your eyes burn from glinting into the sun. You get angry and strike the water as sharks eat the flesh off the old man’s catch.
I get seasick stepping over a puddle.
Mark Twain could write a book. I recall “Life on the Mississippi” today and I have this tremendous urge to sell my house, buy an old fashioned paddle wheeler and “batter down by Baton Rouge, River Queen, roll it on”… And listen, no one really believes Tom Sawyer or Huck Finn are imaginary characters. How about that kind of writing!
I can’t even convince people I’m not making up LaRenda Bradfield and Graylene Lemonds.
Louie L’Amour could write a book. He painted the high desert plains a thousand hues of purple, orange and various browns as the sun danced across the western sky. When his horses thundered down the page dust settled on your reading lamp. When lead flew in his novels, you dove for cover with the rest of the innocent folks.
That’s writing way above and beyond my reach.
Charles Dickens could write a book. He would take the most unexpected down and out character (think Pip in “Great Expectations”) and turn him into a hero. Dickens’ depiction of Victorian era England is like a walking encyclopedia. Without question his deprived and difficult childhood was a springboard for his runaway success as an author. Of course, his talent didn’t hurt either.
Perhaps I was too happy as a youth to write a book.