I am currently engaged in the pleasurable experience of reading a dear friend’s manuscript. There is something deeply personal and sacred about the written word.
Throughout my life writing has been a vehicle for deepening relationships. I had a boyfriend for three years when I was in high school. He was brilliant although I considered his social skills a bit lacking. I often couldn’t guess what was going on in his brain and desperately wanted to know. I really enjoyed getting to know what laid beneath the surface when he went to Germany for an entire summer, leaving me behind in boring Ohio “the heart of it all!” and letters were our only means of communication. I got to know him in a whole new and beautiful way. Same the next summer when I was the one to go abroad for an exchange in France.
And although I didn’t relish the time apart I was grateful for the opportunity with my now husband during the first year we were together due to more of my travels. It’s like seeing someone’s soul shining through. Word choices are deliberate; vocabulary is everything; the art of prose paints a picture of who someone really is; where they’ve come from and where they’re headed in life. I love it!
So now, as I spend time with my friend’s reflections from a pivotal period of her life, many years ago, I do relish getting to see that part of her; the artistry of her words as she weaves her story and bravely makes it available for the eyes of others.