I hate being out-written. But I love reading highly skilled writers. Is this a form of self-abuse? So this summer I’m reading G.K. Chesterton — and if that doesn’t sound exactly like beach reading, let me assure you, it’s ideal beach reading. He deals with big interesting ideas, in fiction as well as essays. And his essays/chapters are short and punchy, all ending with a tag like a great comic or classic copywriter might use. Or Shakespeare. He liked to end things on the button of a heroic couplet. Like
“He wrote 80 books, several hundred poems, some 200 short stories, 4000 essays, and several plays.” My goodness, that output is insane!
It’s hard to be funny, it’s hard to be insightful (without defaulting to cliches), and it’s hard to be both funny and insightful simultaneously. But if you read works from people like G.K. Chesterton, then some of that talent will rub off on you eventually.
“He wrote 80 books, several hundred poems, some 200 short stories, 4000 essays, and several plays.” My goodness, that output is insane!
It’s hard to be funny, it’s hard to be insightful (without defaulting to cliches), and it’s hard to be both funny and insightful simultaneously. But if you read works from people like G.K. Chesterton, then some of that talent will rub off on you eventually.