2017 April 16 – Sunday.
I remember when I discovered J.G. Ballard.
Fifty years ago.
Not like Columbus, but I was looking for gold. The paperback book even had a burnt gold cover. A huge, orange yellow sun. That always was my favorite color. Gold orange yellow.
The title of the little novel was, and maybe still is, The Burning World.
Later I read other books by him, and years later continue to be fascinated by his intense, inner vision of human personality and psychology and feeling.
But there was nothing like that first discovery, that moment of delight and dark surprise. The delicious feeling of reading another man’s words that spoke directly to my hungry eye, my thirsty mind.
On that day I was reborn, with his book, his words, his thought.
I knew I wanted to write like that.
Or at least, read.