My favorite new (old) book

     My sister Mary sent me a book for Christmas. It's a great little read, written by a horror novelist, but it hasn't scared me at all. 

     On Writing was written by Stephen King, known for books that frighten some and cause others to propose film options which evolve into blockbusters that become cultural touchstones. Not bad for a guy from Maine.

     I've learned a great deal from On Writing; not so with King's well-known books. Horror isn't a genre that rings my chimes. But bias and personal taste are viewed through eyes wide shut, and On Writing has mine wide open.

     King mentioned a book that I had forgotten. The Elements of Style was written by William Strunk and E.B. White. I remember it from my brief flame-out at SUNY Morrisville in '77, when Woodward and Bernstein--and Hunter S. Thompson--were my romanticized, post-Watergate heroes. I might have even bought it back then with student loan money. I bought it again the other day, this time with money earned in Russia. A Cold War dividend.

     I love words, even the bad ones. I try to love punctuation, too. I used to edit radio copy that nobody would ever see, adding a comma here, removing a colon there; sifting and changing and striving to be descriptive--yet economical--with words. I didn't want copy written merely to sound right; I wanted it to read right. I remain odd in that way.

     I'd much rather be a poor man in search of the right word than a rich one with nothing to say at all.