The words pulled me in, as they often do. I couldn’t stop reading, line after line of emotions, struggle, hope and faith running between my brain and my heart. From time to time the words became a blurred mess, prompting me to dry my eyes and wipe my tears before I could move on.
I cried for the characters of the book, even though I know they are only ghosts of the alphabet. I felt their fight and fears, I rooted for them and encouraged them forward, fully knowing that the book is already written and my shouting and encouraging will change nothing.
Words have power and great writers know how to use it. Their characters have depth to them and they pull us in simply by being. They feel real, no matter what settings they are in – we recognize bits and pieces of ourselves within them, their doubts, strengths and growth.
I don’t know what the future will bring. Books are changing already, becoming short-term footprints on the digital snow we are surrounded by. The magic of the paper is slowly dissipating, but the power of the words is still here, as strong as ever. I hope that never changes. I hope writers will inspire us still, in some form, until the world itself dies and there is no one left to read them. And who knows, as the Nature takes over, perhaps some words will forever remain, embedded in tree barks; engraved in the stones deep within new oceans, still alive, albeit unknown and unrecognizable to the new species that will inherit Earth from us.
Or, equally possible, our words will travel with us to the stars, and further. They will change, evolve and blend with new languages; maybe even meet and blend with new species and their syllables, grammar and sounds, forging worlds, dreams and hopes unimaginable to us today.
I am grateful to the God of written words for blessing me and allowing me to enter his little family of Creators, even if in the smallest roles. I am forever humbled to have had the privilege to live in the age of books, literacy and art, and to play my part in it. I can’t imagine my life without being able to write my thoughts down; without sharing my dreams with hungry pages and bringing worlds to life, that would otherwise just cease to exist, replaced by new ones within my mind or forgotten forever once I dissolve into Creation again.
I hope there is a path for me to follow, that includes writing and sharing. I hope others will be touched by my words as much as I have been by the words of other writers. I hope my words bring hope and joy to those reading them; painting them to reality within their minds, using their own experiences and imagination as brushes. I hope I get to share at least some of the worlds and characters that reside only inside my mind and heart, for now.
That would be a life well used; a purpose fulfilled and a dream come true.
What books and writers marked your life? What words read still linger in your mind, bringing you smile, hope, encouragement?