This beautiful clematis vine is growing up my son's mailbox here in Alabama. Such gorgeous star-like blooms. I ran out between sprinkles (yes, it is raining, the wet stuff that we haven't seen in months in SE Texas) to take its picture. It is very quiet today in this huge house while the kids are at school, son is at his office and daughter-in-law is taking grandson to the doctor. My husband is buried in a computer upstairs and I am so relishing the quiet along with Pat Conroy's
My Reading Life. Oh my Lord, I hang on every sentence for the poetry in his language. For me, as a writer, it is intimidating and inspirational at the same time. I want to hold lines close to my chest and neverr let them go. I want to steal them as first lines of my own work. I want to soar off to the Carolinas on the wings of his words. He inspires me to go back and read War and Peace once more,
The Yearling and more.
Conroy always knew he wanted to write. I'm a late comer to writing and doubt I will ever write anything as lyrical or profound as Conroy but it is only in reading the best that I learn to appreciate the hard work that real writing demands.
2 comments:
Interesting that you like his writing. For some reason when I read one of his books a long, long time ago, I didn't. Can't even remember what the name of it was.
I DO have a book for you called The Shadow of the Wind. It is by a Spanish author, Carlos Ruiz Zafon. Each sentence to me is like you describe Conroy's - it took my breath away. Remind me to bring it when I come up.......
I've read it Barb. In fact I think I sent it home with you. It is indeed very good.
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