Blog - COMPLETE WRITING... Cayman Islands

 

Read to Write

As I sit here thinking whether I should continue blogging on the subject I wrote about yesterday, or veer in a different direction entirely, the love of my life caught my eye.  No, not Gerard Butler, she says as she drifts off into a daydream of mountainous pecs, bulging biceps, and rippling abs.  (I think I'm heading in a different direction.)

Alas, the love of my life stands stoically beside me on pillars of cement blocks.  My bookshelf. Aka my friend, my companion, my confident, and dare I say?  My lover.  Together we have shared many an intimate moment and on several occasions it has reached out an invisible arm to pull me back from the edge of the dark abyss.  No matter what, I can trust that my bookshelf will always be there for me.  I know this might all sound a little cuckoo, and I certainly don't presume that a bookshelf is an adequate substitute for human contact, but it sure as fig newton is an exceptional companion in those moments when I don't want human contact.

Here's the thing, and this is where non-professional writers should take hope.  I was born in Canada to Italian immigrants.  I was 6 years old and in Kindergarten when I actually started to learn to speak English.  Up until then I spoke only our Venetian.  In fact, my mom tells the story of when she found me under the kitchen window one day, hitting my forehead in total frustration, repeating to myself the mantra, "Fine thank-you.  Sonya.  Fine-thank-you. Sonya."  On and on I went. Apparently, although I don't remember this, I was in the habit of reversing my responses when asked 'how are you' and 'what's your name.' What I do remember vividly, however, as I started to understand English, was sitting mesmerized in front of  Mrs. Franklin as she read stories to the class.  I'm pretty sure it was then that I fell in love with books.  I was in awe of those magical words coming out of Mrs. Franklin's mouth that seemed to paint pictures so vivid that I could actually see the story unfolding in my head.  And yes, I do remember feeling that as a young child.

Now, if you're a first generation North American like me, I'm sure you can understand when I say that even to this day, my ability to retrieve just the 'right' word from the recesses of my linguistic brain, is not a strength I can rely on when speaking with someone.  I'm certainly fluent in English, but having grown up in an Italian speaking home, for the most part, the words I use to converse are simple.  In other words, when other kids were engaged in colourful repertoires of  English banter with their parents, I was doing the same thing, but in our Venetian.  

The only real interaction, at the time, I had with the English language in its most beautiful sense, was through books.  I read voraciously.  It wasn't until I was about 13, however,  that I realised that I could actually speak differently, so-to-speak, when I wrote.  And so I began to write. And my mom, who by now had studied English herself, would encourage me and help me with projects, stories, poems to the best of her ability.  And to make a long story short, here I am!

So there dear readers (if there are any of you out there), is the moral of the story.  If you're insecure about your writing abilities, read and read and read and then read some more.  Read anything.  Magazines.  Recipes.  Newspapers.  Blogs.  Books.  The back of shampoo bottles. Equipment manuals.  Anything.  Just read. You'd be surprised what reading can do for your writing.  And that's the truth!

Posted by: Administrator Thursday Jan 12, 2012 06:51
Categories: writing blog, Writing Tips for Non-Writers | Tags: blog, book, english, language, non-writer, poems, professional writer, reading, Sonya, stories, word, writers, writing