Writing as Telepathy
Stephen King once wrote that writing was a form of telepathy. At first, I snickered, thinking King was just being . . . well, King. But then I thought about it some (hmm, thinking, what a novel idea), and you know what? He’s right. Writing is telepathy. Thoughts are transferred from my mind to yours over time and space.
Here’s an example, say I write: The man was tall but not nearly as tall as he could be considering the cantaloupe-sized hump on his back, right between the shoulder blades, that bent him forward at the chest like he was constantly checking to see if his shoes were tied. His hair was black, shiny, and thin, with only a combful of strands, like crows feet, covering a bald spot. A long, thin nose, slightly bent to one side, sat in the middle of his gaunt face, bordered on top and bottom by deep-set eyes as black and lifeless as unused charcoal and a lipless mouth.
Are you getting the picture? I have a picture of this gentlemen in my head and my bet is that you are getting a similar picture. Now, obviously it won’t be the exact picture I have, that’s the beauty of writing and reading, but here we are, me in front of my computer in York, Pennsylvania at 7:24 am and you in front of your computer in Who-knows-where and who-knows-when and we’re connecting, our minds are seeing basically the same image.
It’s telepathy. It’s brillian, isn’t it?