In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “That Stings!.”
I’m not sure I can define a book that stings or bites. Maybe that is because I’m no longer force to read things to which is attached a quiz, or that don’t hold my interest – including the daily Yahoo and MSN news. Some of that “information” stings, or would if I knew for certain I could believe what some talking/typing head is spewing. Every source is biased, every source has an ax to grind. Rather than wonder if what I’m reading is true, I’ve stopped reading everything but headlines.
Years ago a television commentator, Jim Brown, on a Eugene, Oregon channel spent five minutes reporting an issue, and then another ten explaining what I should understand about what he just finished saying.
I’m old enough to recall Gabriel Heatter and Walter Winchell, radio news broadcasters. Perhaps I was to naive to question what they were selling. We also had Tokyo Rose.
But all that is behind us now. At least it should be.
My reading serves two purposes – technical stuff dealing with electronic communications – how it’s done – and pleasure.
Some of the technical material requires a greater math background than I have. I used to labor over the books in order to grasp the author’s point. Today, however, there’s a better than even chance I’ll never put these theories to practice, so try to understand the overview, and then I move on.
My reading pleasure is all over the place. I’ve read most of Louis L’Amour stuff, as well as Zane Grey, but I’ve moved beyond formula books. My most challenging fiction author is Umberto Eco. His vocabulary exceeds mine, and that slows me down. I read his Prague Cemetery twice. A writing colleague, after reading it, suggested it was a handbook on the art of switch. Whatever, it was a fun read.
<a href=”https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/that-stings/”>That Stings!</a>
Long story short, I don’t read things that complicate my life. I don’t have time for it.