Reading to Write

“There is creative reading as well as creative writing.”
— Ralph Waldo Emerson

While browsing the internet for inspiration and tips on how to improve my craft, I came across a bit of advice: If you want to write well, you need to read, a lot. Simple, right? Kind of a no-brainer..

I think I always knew this, but somewhere along the way, I forgot. I grew up with a voracious appetite for the written word. Books sustained me, I couldn’t get enough. I would read these beautifully written passages and wonder how the authors packed so much meaning and detail into them.

But then, I just stopped. I stopped reading, and, eventually, I stopped writing.

It wasn’t until my last year of high school that I took up the habit again. I rediscovered the wonder that a reader is afforded: wonder at the landscapes, the details, the characters. Reading great literature is like peeking into the mind of some great author and seeing how it works, how the ideas come together, how problems arise and how they are solved. 

It’s easy to get discouraged about writing when you feel that you can’t express the most important details and remain true to your subject. But when you’re armed with an arsenal of knowledge, knowledge of what works and what doesn’t  it’s easier to start, to keep going, and to perfect your writing.

What Could (Never) Have Been

I regret not being able to do everything. Life sets up these boundaries: one life, one choice, one chance to be the best version of yourself. I really hate that. I don’t mind so much that we have to die, but I do mind that our lives are so restricted. Being forced to choose makes our choices in life more important, but it also limits us to a single experience. I know that what I want to do most in life is to write, but I wish that I could have had the chance to do a million other things.

I wanted to play the cello, be fluent in other languages, live in different countries, be a doctor, pilot, musician, actress, director, pastry chef, and world traveler. I wanted to paint, design buildings, be a dancer, spend days on end philosophizing, and so many other things. But I can’t. Maybe in some small way I may be able to dabble in my smaller passions, but I can never completely fulfill them.

My bucket list is riddled with impossibilities.

I’ve come to accept this, but when you’re in college, it is always there, festering at the back of your mind. “Pick a major, pick a career, pick a life”, as if it is so easy. The choice permeates daily life, impossible as it is, until one day you are forced into the confinement of your choice: in choosing this life, you annihilate all others. And that is what scares me.