Sometimes I wish that I could paint a picture with words. One that was so vivid a person could actually picture it forming in their head almost as if I was a painter and the world a canvas. It’s something that I’ve thought about often, and while I do think that describing life in details is fun, I find that using the most minute of those features to be tedious.
I think that’s why I never understood the love of Lord of the Rings. Don’t get me wrong, I realize that they are a beloved set of books, I do not deny that there are merits to them and they are indeed beautiful works of fiction. However, I could not get into them. When grass is described in such detail that my brain wants to melt I just want to cry. Some I know celebrate this, some do not see the joys of dense dialogue writing, purple prose is not something that tickles some people’s fancy, and I respect that I just have never really been sure where I fit in.
Is it the satire and honest truth that I can capture? The way I tend to not hold anything back? Or is it the angst of being that person that is trapped between a rock and a hard place? The woman that knows who she is yet cannot yell it from the rooftops because there’s still that little girl inside that needs to be accepted and my truth, the REAL me is something that not everyone will embrace.