This follows the first literary observation, also previously posted here and there on my blog that is fairly major, but not as major as the eye-dropper that has kept my eyes pried wide open.
Working with words can be a monster in disguise, a humbling reason to avoid snarky writing.
With that atonement out of the way, one of the greatest literary observations that will humble committed writers (and readers), and hopefully keep us writing (and reading), is in how much the activity resembles golf.
And I know. I hear it now. What the ‘bleep’!?!
It’s true. Golf, much like reading and writing, was viewed as a very private, pricey, elite activity. Once upon a time it was unheard of to hear someone say, “when I grow up I want to be a golfer,” similar to the deep sighs that might result if someone announced, “I want to be a writer.” And forget what might result if someone advertised they wanted to be a reader.
I specifically chose the golf parallel because (1) reading and writing does remind me of golf in its exclusive nature, and (2), I really do hope the proxy helps readers and writers appreciate the great literary movement of this current day and time.
Now the lead-in caption answers another literary observation I didn’t catch sight of until after I decided to use what I would later learn was a pen name for my books.
In lieu of spelling my whole name out across book covers, I thought chopping up my real name and paring this quartet down to a sizeable four letters would be no big deal.
Recently however, the questions and comments have increased. “What’s your real name,” “I couldn’t find your real name anywhere,” “I didn’t know that was you...” “what should I call you…” “no one will know you by your real name…” which is in addition to receiving numerous creatively addressed emails; and I’m not even talking about the attempts to spell RYCJ, all on top of a dozen other haphazards that creates a fine aperture to open up.