The Restless Imagination
I write because I have a restless imagination.
It drives me along the shores of China across the raging seas
and deep into the outer rings of Saturn. It interrupts my
thoughts and takes me out onto improbable tangents and the
worst possible times. It breaks up my prayer life and
confounds me at church where a discussion of David leads me
to the battlefields of Israel. It draws me past the still waters
into scenes set in the high Andes or low deserts.
And so I write, to exercise or perhaps to exorcise, the stories
that run rough shod over my brain. And to bring them under His
control.
It’s easy, during the day, while I’m at work, for I have to think
and concentrate on the tasks at hand, but hands turn to gloves
and gloves turn to paws, and suddenly I’m off again;
gallivanting across the fields of my imagination, until jolted
back to reality by the task at hand. And it’s worse when I drive. I
wrote most of the final chapter of my first book driving to and
from Forest Grove. A forty-five minute trip, each way, gave me
the space I needed to visualize the final chapter. And I had only
written the first five.
And so this space, virtual, electronic and distant, becomes my
new canvass, my new sheet of paper in the typewriter, where I
hope to exercise my strong imaginings. What this world of
mine will become, the Lord knows.
Hopefully, you the reader will help guide me as it takes form.
- W.A. Strong
I write because I have a restless imagination.
It drives me along the shores of China across the raging seas
and deep into the outer rings of Saturn. It interrupts my
thoughts and takes me out onto improbable tangents and the
worst possible times. It breaks up my prayer life and
confounds me at church where a discussion of David leads me
to the battlefields of Israel. It draws me past the still waters
into scenes set in the high Andes or low deserts.
And so I write, to exercise or perhaps to exorcise, the stories
that run rough shod over my brain. And to bring them under His
control.
It’s easy, during the day, while I’m at work, for I have to think
and concentrate on the tasks at hand, but hands turn to gloves
and gloves turn to paws, and suddenly I’m off again;
gallivanting across the fields of my imagination, until jolted
back to reality by the task at hand. And it’s worse when I drive. I
wrote most of the final chapter of my first book driving to and
from Forest Grove. A forty-five minute trip, each way, gave me
the space I needed to visualize the final chapter. And I had only
written the first five.
And so this space, virtual, electronic and distant, becomes my
new canvass, my new sheet of paper in the typewriter, where I
hope to exercise my strong imaginings. What this world of
mine will become, the Lord knows.
Hopefully, you the reader will help guide me as it takes form.
- W.A. Strong
Restless Imagination
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May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.
be pleasing in your sight,
O LORD, my Rock and my Redeemer.