The Book That Calls Me

  The book calls to me. When I read this author's words I feel like I am breathing again.


 His book called, and I answered it last summer. What new and amazing story was about to unfold before me? What writing techniques would I learn from him? His last book was like magic, and I was anticipating sparks again.


 As soon as I got home from the library, I began to read, and his writing was just as amazing as his other book. But it was also filled with profanities. Not one or two randomly sprinkled in the book, but a ton of them on the first few pages, like they were going to be their own character in the book. I skimmed ahead and there was more. I looked even further, and the swear words hadn't stopped. And I knew in my heart that I could not read this book. I made myself return it unread, though I longed to know the story on its pages.


 Six months passed. The book still called to me. And with that beckoning came the excuses. It couldn't be that bad. You're remembering it wrong. It will help you become a better writer. Stop being so ultra conservative. It's just a few swear words. You know you want to, so just do it.


 So I checked it out again, excited to read it. I read my other book first, always one to save the best for last. Then I pulled it out ready to savor all of the clever words riding on the magical plot. But it was smothered in swear words. Swear words that didn't stop after page three. Swear words that were continuously repeated. And I felt the Holy Spirit telling me to stop.


 There is a book that calls to me. It sings a haunting melody that I want to hear. It tempts me with the promise of genius writing techniques hidden within its pages. But I will never know that technique or hear that melody, even though it calls my name.