The Joy of Words

As a child, I discovered the joy of words. As an adult I have often collected words and lines from other authors’ works, tucking them, like flowers, between the pages of my journals. Sometimes, I feel, too, as though I can almost rub my fingers across them, feeling a texture like fine brocade. 

Here for instance is a line from one of my favorite books, What Remains, by Nicholas Delbanco:

His mother and his wife and daughter and mother-in-law and the maid gathered together in Lyndhurst Road, the three generations awaiting their meal, the five of them engaged in constant disputation, and between the day’s work at the gallery, between what he has left behind and what he goes to for the night he relishes this interval, a brief space of solitude, walking…

I love the sweet cadence of those words and the way they create a picture so true they are as clear as any photographic image. Delbanco's story flows like a violin solo - sometimes exquisite, light, and piercing, but always beautifully and inescapably here, dynamic, and vibrant. I love it, reading it, and relishing the joy mere words can bring.  

My memoir, Dear Elvis, is available at amzn.to/2uPSFtE