Sometimes reading a piece of writing I get the feeling that everyone described therein is large, scowling, aggressive and ponderous. Regardless of the descriptions given of these people.
Last night, reading something written on a blog I don’t remember ever visiting previously, I was struck by this again. Then I realised what was causing it.
The writing style was such that all I gathered was “heavy, dark, plodding”.
Similarly in the last year I have abandoned reading at least two books. The writer has become so enmeshed in descriptive prose that the characters failed to become real, they were more adornments of the ‘world’ described so carefully that they were one-dimensional, despite the words that had been used to describe them.
It made me once again realise just how fragile the writer’s craft is, how difficult to strike the right balances for specific audiences, captivate them and carry them breathless for more across the landscape of activity, or desiring to linger in the garden of your words.