It’s easy to call yourself a “geek” and to throw yourself into episode after episode of a TV show, go catch a movie with a friend, or glance over wiki posts. It’s easy to reblog something or read something in passing on Buzzfeed or Hypable. Read a tweet that’s less than 140 characters. It’s easy to watch videos on video games and listen to people talk about the things they like and claim those thoughts as your own. It’s easy to Google search when you don’t understand. It’s easy to mimicry.
It’s harder to dedicate time to reading novels and to get lost in characters and plots and words. It’s harder to reflect on what content you’re consuming. It’s harder to look at something you love with a grain of salt and love it in spite of its evident flaws. It’s harder to get to know a community. It’s harder to make your own content and step away from the crowd. It’s harder to store information in your brain and be able to recall it on the spot. It’s harder to ask questions and have more questions to ask because of it. It’s harder to have a voice.
Stories were different, though: they came alive in the telling. Without a human voice to read them aloud, or a pair of wide eyes following them by flashlight beneath a blanket, they had no real existence in our world. They were like seeds in the beak of a bird, waiting to fall to earth, or the notes of a song laid out on a sheet, yearning for an instrument to bring their music into being. They lay dormant, hoping for the chance to emerge. Once someone started to read them, they could begin to change. They could take root in the imagination, and transform the reader. Stories wanted to be read. – John Connolly, The Book of Lost Things
– cumuloq ❤