So… about getting this post up before 9 PM… My bad. Yeah, things have been a little rough these last few days and kind of climaxed today so I’m just a tad out of it. Instead of my usual writing exercise, let’s just talk a little. It’s kind of on topic with my original post for this week. Kind of. I want to talk about emotions.
You know there are some books – they may not even be your usual type of read – that just grab you and refuse to let go? They take your heart in their hands and they take it on a ride. Sometimes it’s like a rollercoaster, slowly rising followed by a quick plummet. Sometimes it’s like a car spinning out of control where you can only grab onto the wheel and not-let-go. Sometimes they just crush you, either a little at a time or all at once in a horrible grinding motion. Those are powerful books.
They are the books that make you smile to yourself so that people wonder what you’re thinking. They’re the books that make you laugh out loud even when you try to strangle the sound. They’re the books that make you cry even if you’re the kind of person who just doesn’t cry. They are dangerous books.
What I’m trying to say, in short, is that these books are like magic. They’re magic because using words alone, they manage to take hold of one of the most fundamental part of the reader: their emotions. Once they’ve taken hold they will make you feel exactly what has been intended for you to feel. They will change you from the inside-out. They are powerful and they are dangerous but that all makes them beautiful and wonderful and worth the risk.
One book that changed me in ways I cannot describe was called A Basket of Flowers. For the life of me I can’t remember what it was about except for the fact that the protagonist was female and other little snatches. But I remember the impression it left. I remember crying when I said I wouldn’t. I can feel the heaviness in my heart when I just think about this book. That is something to be in awe of. A book that has possibly taken a bit of me and replaced it with something else. A book I read when I was eleven, still causes strong feelings even though I’m now twenty.
Just think about it.
K, the Popinjay.