I hate that technology and microwave culture has devalued the magic of prose by dismantling language into abbreviations, acronyms, and shortcuts.
The ubiquitous eloquence of pre-internet language makes me swoon. The thrill of handwritten letters and the romance of expansive vocabularies. Language was art. It was necessary. It was all there was. Now hashtag swag is a staple and we flirt instead of court, via choppy texts of wyd ’s and nmu’s.
I love meeting people through their written words, being able to refer back to their musings long after the conversation has ended, archiving traces of their mind.
So, if you must electronically communicate with me, send me a text message burdened with the verbosity of your thoughts and the weight of your words, because innately, as humans, we are more than the “lol : )” we have lately settled upon.
And perhaps we ought to privilege our daily audience with that intimate familiarity. Perhaps we should romance others with the intimacy of our own personal adventure. Perhaps there is an epic memoir hiding in your depths that could never adequately be told via brb’s and jk’s.
Within all of us is a great story. And you ought to write it all down. Whether you think yourself a gifted writer or not, your story is one worth writing. Whether you share it with the world, one person, or even just yourself, your story is one worth reading.