A Writer Reflects on Reading
by Varin

Greetings, readers.

 

You may have read some of my other pieces in past issues of The Zardian, or perhaps you have seen the Zardian Board and decided to give this Zardian E-Zine a try. However you found the Zardian, I am glad that you are here reading this. Some of my past articles may be entertaining, some may be funny or witty or informative; this week, I am going to go another direction.

 

I haven't always enjoyed writing and haven't always enjoyed reading. In fact, as a child in middle school there was no way I was going to ever open a book. I thought the written word was stupid; if it was worth thinking about, it was on the TV or told to me by one of my friends. Now, I might have been adamant about never reading for class, but I had a teacher that really responded well to the tougher kids, like I was. He dared me to read a book.

 

It wasn't for class, he knew if it was for homework, even a dare would not have worked, but he dared me to read one. Handed me his own copy of The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien and told me that if I didn't like it, then he would pass me without a second thought, without me having to do anything more that semester. But I had to talk with him on what I read, he wouldn't just let me off with waiting without reading it and then me telling him that I hated it; he wanted me to give it a shot. And so I did. I figured, 'what the heck'', I was bound hate it. I hated reading and a free pass is good.

 

A few weeks later he asked if I had finished it. I chuckled and said almost, for the fifth time. I devoured that book with a vengeance. Over and over I read it, loving it more each and every time. No sooner would I finish the last page then would I open it up again from the first. My teacher just laughed and suggested that maybe I would do decent on the test on that one, it would be later in the year. I want to say that I was mad with him... but I really wasn't. Not then, and definitely not now. He gave me that book for Christmas that year and it still rests on my shelf to this day, to remind myself of what I could have missed out on.

 

Now after that, I suppose I could have picked up another hobby like other people in my grade. Soccer, baseball, basketball, some sort of sport. I actually tried baseball for a bit, but it wasn't for me; for me I was exercising the wrong muscles. I was just drawn to whatever books I could find. Some I liked, and some I didn't, but it was always a different journey for myself getting to the end and deciding if I did or not. I found my favorite genre from the first one, always have been a sucker for a good Fantasy read.

 

I'm not quite sure when I went from reading to writing, but the change was gradual. I would go from writing little things in study halls to larger things at home. Never more than a few pages before I had another idea and started something else, but it was fun to see where my pencil and mind could take me. Perhaps that is why I like reading so much, the escape is half the fun, as is the pursuit of “What next?” My writing never developed into anything more really, just things for myself, but it was fun and something I enjoyed. Years later, here I am, writing for all of your enjoyment and reading pleasure. I will let you in on a secret though: I almost think I enjoy writing for you as much as I do reading a great book.

 

Perhaps this may illuminate why I do this a bit for some, and maybe it was enjoyable to read about how I got into writing. Hopefully I was able to give you, dear reader, something to take away from this; even if it is just a smile thinking of me as a wee child.

 

--Varin