If you know me personally, you know how much I love words. I love reading them. I love writing them. I love it when they are given as a gift from the heart. I love how they somehow string together to touch hearts in books, in poetry in lyrics and letters. I treasure a love note, like some women treasure diamonds and gold. It's fascinating to me how words come together to create something out of nothing, how they can be understood or completely misunderstood based on interpretation and how their meaning can change with inflection, punctuation, and sometimes... an author's intention. Words are a craft. One I hone every day, in some form or another. They've been elusive lately. But I feel them coming back... and I tremble.
When I was a little girl, living in Southern California, I used to walk several city blocks in our neighborhood to a park, that had a library right beside it. I smile when I think of it now. The library was actually across a very busy main road and you got there by traveling on a covered footbridge, over the road from the park, and back down again to the other side. It was all concrete steps and chain link fencing but in my little girl mind, I was crossing a moat to get to the sweeping library with brocade drapes and books from floor to ceiling in a castle surrounded by a moat, and a beautiful rose garden. (someone plucked that scene from Beauty and the Beast right out of my head!) I loved that place. It was my favorite escape and I would wander for hours choosing stories to read, often plopping right down on the floor in front of a bookshelf with one, to sample it. And I trembled.
Vincent Van Gogh once said of William Shakespeare,
How beautiful Shakespeare is, who else is as mysterious as he is; his language and method are like a brush trembling with excitement and ecstasy.
I think that is just about one of the nicest ways of describing a writer's work, as I have ever heard. And I tremble.:)