Okay, so I know Valentine’s Day was last week and this post is all late… while Cupid’s bow didn’t exactly miss me nor leave me crippled, I was thinking about this just now – have you ever read a book and felt not only impressed by the weight of the work but so impressed by the dynamic of the person who thought it up that you felt (let’s say ‘intrigued’) to find out more about the author?
It’s happened to me personally twice.
The first time – it was Hemingway. Don’t laugh, I know he’s, well, old and dead! But I’ve always been attracted to older men and his writing – it’s simply unparralled.
Simple, strong, full of imagery and fills me with a wanderlust that I just can’t describe.
To me, he is Cuba, cats, cigars, manliness, the Florida Keys, Caribbean crystal waters and fishing, guns and the hunt, and brilliance.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” – Hemingway, Ernest
So very true, ask any poet or artist.
The second time – my best friend recommended this book – Syrup by Maxx Barry. It was so unlike anything I had read. It was sardonic and funny, refreshing and brilliant.
When I finished, I turned the book jacket around and was surprised to see how young and handsome Maxx Barry really is, and then, sighed to discover he was also already taken.
The admiration remained and although it may just be a fleeting fancy – I think it’s just another interesting effect that words and the minds that bring them forth have on us and the world around us. Nothing wrong with that – in my book.