Running Home to You

I love that feeling when you’re reading something so breathtaking you have to just give yourself a moment to let the words sink in and the shivers leave your body. 

Some books are like the writing equivalent of that sketchy style of drawing where you convey a lot of feeling with very few lines, and some book are like those hyper-realistic paintings that look exactly like an actual photograph down to the pores and pimples, and I’m forever bouncing back and forth between admiring each style for its unique feel and effect while nursing a sneaking suspicion that I’m not skilled enough to pull off either one.

You know, if you’re thinking about sending someone a nice message and you’re unsure because you’re shy or whatever, just do it anyway. This world lacks so much kindness, and I see people all the time talking about why receiving a sweet message was the highlight of their day. If you have the ability to literally make someone’s day by taking a moment to say a few nice words like, just do it.

I really like “pretentious” writing styles. Complex language, labyrinthine sentences, long parenthetical asides… I love them. It’s like going on a scenic tour and encountering strange and wondrous new sights and sounds. Language is beautiful and words are free, so why be economical? Indulge! Be decadent!