Words are funny little things, aren’t they? At once both fleeting and concrete, they take different forms when shoved together next to one another in bulky sentences or careless phrases. Precise and lithe, words are my worst enemies and my best friends.
I’m a firm believer in words. True, they’re tricky, and oftentimes there’s more to one of them than first appears. But that’s where the hunt begins, the chase, the burning desire to know, just know, what that one damn word is trying to tell me. Where’s the fun in something that lacks mystery? Where’s the intrigue? Words play with me. They actively engage me, and yet somehow keep me at an arms distance at all times, as if to say, “Come and get me…!” and I, knowing full and well that I will never catch them, run to join the game.
People say to me all the time, “Yeah, but what are you going to do with a Literature degree?” What am I going to do? I’m going to do something that makes me fall in love every single day. I’m going to be surrounded by words and I am not going to regret for a second my choice to do so. I have no doubt that I will be able to find something “to do.” I refuse to give up the convoluted and fascinating world that is words for something someone else deems “practical.” I am an informed, passionate, educated adventurer/rocketeer for the English language, and now, if you’ll excuse me, there’s a book sitting next to me that’s screaming my name.