Azuire
The consideration of "language" evoked very different thoughts a year ago than it does today. As a matter of fact, I don't think I considered language very much outside the moments when I would be reading a book and think, "Oh my! That was a terrific line!"I can remember that happening a few times...
Now, I consider language constantly. That is, I consider it in a broader context than spoken word, or reading material that strikes me as brilliant, or carrying along a lovely sentiment. I consider the mood a writer must have been in, or maybe the time spent laboring over choosing that word rather than one with more meat on its bones. Yes... meat on its bones. I equate words, language, with food. Or better yet, the feel of food rolling over my tongue and being gnashed between my teeth. Texture, color, scent... words are tangible, tasty pieces of human thought that can be stewed, or steeped together until the flavors meld, creating a feast for our eyes, and ears, and minds! Language is sustenance, perhaps then, writers sustain themselves... and humankind.
Now that I've begun to consider language as something vital, reading takes on new meaning. Why else would we be so anxious to devour the words between book covers if we weren't receiving something incredibly important to our survival?
Regardless of the writer's motivation, in the end there will be readers ready to gnaw on the results, to test the flavors, to dine on a new special brand of language. Hopefully they will be well satisfied.
What is your language? Is it simplistic, pared to the bone, with a humble flavor? Is it spicy with a sensuous texture, sure to make them all long for more? What does your own palette demand?
Our featured writer this week seems to have a sophisticated palette, and she's chosen to use her time wisely, experimenting with an eclectic mix of flavors to form her own personal language. My darlings, I give you Azuire!
Bio:
Top of the morning to you. Call me Zurie; I arrived at Brigit's Flame during the Great September Migration of '09. Yours truly likes lists, so allons-y!
I'm a Non Resident Indian (or as I like to call it: Not Required Indian) and I've recently entered my second year of university. I rather miss being seventeen and crazy, but rest assured you can always find me being chased off someone's front lawn.
I live in a place where bicycles are vicious, vicious vehicles and the locals are prone to apologising for things that aren't their fault. (They have several other baffling habits, but that is a story for another day.) My classes here are bilingual, which means I can say "transcendentalism", but I can't order food at a restaurant.
My relationship with reality has been extremely trying, and it's to blame for much of the surrealism that pervades my work. The first poem I wrote (I still have it somewhere) was a sensible haiku about rain. In contrast, the first prose I wrote was called the Book of Nothing (I was seven, all right?). True to its title, it had "nothing in it". Despite my current prose phase, I'm still very much a poet at heart.
When I'm not following strangers home, I can normally be found in a quiet corner of the library, nose buried in a book, or busy scribbling. I don't read as much as I should, but I've made it a habit. I prefer pen and paper (or typewriter, when I'm lucky) to a keyboard.
My other interests include: making up elaborate back-stories for strangers I see on the train; asking my mum to lower the volume of her rock music; learning new languages; exploring obscure bookstores; and cats (but not all together). I also have a curious and slightly disturbing affinity for fruit juice.
Most of you probably know me better through my red pen. I love editing (yes this is possible) and few things bring me more joy than to see a writer improve. I've discovered many lovely works through my editing assignments here on Brigit's Flame that I wouldn't otherwise have had the time to read.
Thanks for reading, and please feel free to ask any questions you may have. :)
The Chosen Piece:
The featured piece is by no means singular in style or execution (and I'm technically cheating, because it wasn't written for a prompt), but it tackles one of my favourite themes. Furthermore, it's wildly popular with my fanbase (read: all three of them like it). This is Death Comes:
The Link:
http://community.livejournal.com/sushiandchai/18118.html
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