“In reading we must become creators. Once the child has learned to read alone, and can pick up a book without illustrations, he must become a creator, imagining the setting of the story, visualizing the characters, seeing facial expressions, hearing the inflection of voices. The author and the reader “know” each other; they meet on the bridge of words.”
― Madeleine L’Engle
I love words. I write about words often. Their cadence and how they can make a sentence come alive. Brian Jacques (a children’s author) wrote his stories for blind children. His paragraphs are incredibly visual. (I’ve probably said this before!!) Other authors have gems of phrases inside their works which shine like a lighthouse amidst a dark sea of syllables.
I’ve had a love affair with words since I was young. I crossed over the bridge Madeleine L’Engle mentions and entered worlds I never dreamed I could imagine. I’ve written to, befriended, and fallen in love with authors, I have rolled individual sentences on my tongue like a decadent confection, and I am pleased when I can meet with a wordsmith and walk their way. I’ve tripped over vowels and consonants, tumbling their sounds in a cacophony pouring from my mouth which ends up in hilarity (for others and sometimes myself!). I have trouble spelling words and spend a great deal of time with word games to improve my vocabulary (there are some of the dumbest words out there put into games!). I often see words when they are said, so it is irritating when I can’t spell them or pronounce them!
I hear words and see their shape and often they have color. Names of people usually have color and shape and texture. Those can change over time as I learn to know someone better or as we grow away from each other. Some people have the same names and yet they look different in my head when I say them. Let me use my friends Randy as an example. First, there is Randy who is a dark, warm, solid colored, glowing in the sun fur. (he has a voice which would make him millions in a 1-800 hotline!) And Randy, who is also dark. He, however, is a very dark grained ancient glossy wood, with dark and light playing on the surface from candles. (He is mystery and comfort and a spot of danger.) Then, there is Randy. His name is made of breezy, flirty sunshine and clouds and blue sky. (peace and comfort and a bit of tease) Last, but not least, is Randy. His name is like a jack in the box toy. Colorful, you know what to expect, you always jump, and he almost always does what he is supposed to, because that is how he’s made.
I am a visual person, sexually, too. Especially, if the visuals are words. I enjoy gifs or photos, but truly, the one thing I get off on are words. (I’ve not had the chance to enjoy many naughty podcasts, I’m not sure how those would thrill me. If I listen to people I know speak to me, that is hot!) Poetry, stories, and paragraphs of erotica are some of my favorite genre. (I often wonder how I’d react hearing someone read to me, in RL—real life, the stories I enjoy) I know if I hear a person say my name in a breathless undertone, I become melted goo and need scraped off the floor.
I enjoy getting emails and texts from people I know, I can hear their voices as they say the words I’m reading. (thankfully, almost everyone I text writes real words!) One of the problems with texts from The Craftsman are those words. Every so often, he sends me loving phrases and I can’t hear his voice say them. He rarely has said them before, he probably means them, but I can’t hear them. (I’m horrible, they often make me wonder or smile in a bit of confusion.) One of his was , ‘I better go to bed. I should have called earlier. I was being lazy. I love you.’ (He sent that after he sent a good night text and I wanted to know some things and share some things and sent several texts. He did respond to a few.) I laughed out loud when a good friend sent me this, ‘Are you here?’ I could hear her voice, and answered it right away. Or the text I got from her husband once, which made me really laugh since it was something I could hear his wife saying (I told him that and asked if I should text her back! I’m pretty sure we were chatting about mum and life).
I’ll probably write about my affair with words again. When you love something you set it free, if it comes back to you it is yours, if it doesn’t it never was. Words are my freedom, we escape together, and we belong together. They are mine and yours. I guess it could be a poly-amorous relationship!