I have a friend in television — a broadcaster — who has that cool rhythmic flourish down when he writes his stories. I have another friend who used to turn out one witty results summary after another for our office football pool. Even my friend who got her Ph.D. must have injected — after many cups of coffee and a staredown with a pile of notes — a certain style into her dissertation.
And with any of these people, with anyone who picks up the pen with the intention to craft a fine, sparkling sentence, it comes to this: that feeling you get of familiarity and honor when you read another’s work. From a former dancer’s perspective, it’s like when you watch another dancer do seven pirouettes and then stop on a dime, a gleam in her eye to match the gleam in your own.
It’s that place without ego, when all competition ceases. It’s that moment when the sharing of words is greater than anything else. No matter how innocuous and unassuming, nor how large and encompassing those words are, we stop and grin and gleam together.