As I lay on the floor of my friends’ apartment in Edmonton, Alberta, I look over at the bookshelf.

It is a colour coded collection of works from across spectrums and ages. It inspires and daunts and delights.

To think that each author had to battle their demons, spent hours upon hours pondering, procrastinating, preparing, printing, publishing to get each book out. To look and contemplate the wide variety of voices and styles and stories and thoughts and experiences, is to be amazed.

Tolkein, Lewis, Rowling.
Pynchon, Chabon, Ondaatje.
Vonnegut, Kerouac, Hemmingway.
Dostoyevsky, Bronte, Hugo.

What a span of different stories and voices. Each unique and varied. How much richer our world for this expression! How wonderful the creation and possibilities unpacked and presented through thought and language.

It is both intimidating and exhilarating to me.  And I remember that each didn’t have to write like another. There are plenty of stories to tell. Fiction and Non.

Books are just one form of expression. Each of us have at our disposal numerous ways to voice our muse and release our thought, feeling, and experience. That also intimidates and excites me.

It is an opportunity we’re all invited to. May we dance, may we strive, may we discover.

Here’s a link to a video that Justin Hill posted on Google Plus earlier today. In it Alex Chadwick of plays 100 riffs from classic rock to contemporary. I’m struck not just by the progression of playing, but how the skill and sounds widen over time. It isn’t just a linear expansion, but also an outward one of individuals finding their expression.

Oh what wonders we’re yet to see and hear and experience.

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