Yesterday (in one sitting) I read “A Thousand Mornings” by Mary Oliver.
It’s not too much to say I was mesmerised by her words. In fact, several times I had to check myself to make sure I’d understood the full import of what she’d written.
Not to sound too egotistical, but I wish my writing was a bit more — a lot more — like that. Better still, the bit of poetry I’ve written.
Instead, I’m too wordy, too verbose, and (not that I design it this way) too clever for my own good.
Let’s face it, the best writing isn’t the one we struggle to understand — at least for me — but something that makes us think; and think a lot.
I’m sure you can think of a few writers that have arrested your attention to the point where [fill in the gap].
Again, what am I saying?
The obvious point would be to clean up my act, to dial down on the hyperbole and to write more clearly. The less obvious point is to: a) ask myself what I’m writing about, b) to write about it and c) (most importantly) edit like a Whirling Dervish. Cut out all — and I mean all — unnecessary or extraneous words.
And that’s what I intend to do.
Hopefully, this won’t be, as so many of my proclamations have ended up as being (almost like film on the cutting room floor) empty promises but something to live by; and this I’m serious about.
Does this mean I’ll change tack with my writing? No, not at all but I do need to find the right or better words and not just the ones I like.
Until tomorrow — God willing.