Dear Sir or Madam, will you read my book?

Last night while driving the 9.5 hours from New Jersey to Michigan I finally grasped what the authors where talking about when they talked about the south and hot and sticky nights. I drove with my window down most of the time because it keeps me alert and I like the feel of the wind on my face. But damn, afterwards I could feel the humidity clinging to my skin as I rolled up the window. And I knew what it meant to lay awake at night because the air was so sticky and hot it made even breathing unpleasant.

This thought led me to think about how certain writers have this way of capturing you with things they say. For the internet people, John Green resonates with his quotable lines and wording. And I think about how sometimes, when I’m alone and there’s a breeze or a certain smell something stands out to me it can take me back to something someone has written and I love tha. There’s an opening to a book which I absolutely adore, White Oleander by Janet Fitch. It haunts me at moments like this when I’m driving and my mind finds the connection.

“The Santa Anas blew in hot from the desert, shriveling the last of the spring grass into whiskers of pale straw. Only the oleanders thrived, their delicate poisonous blooms, their dagger green leaves. We couldn't sleep in the hot dry nights, my mother and I. I woke up at midnight to find her bed empty. I climbed to the roof and easily spotted her blonde hair like a white flame in the light of the three-quarter moon.”

The opening lines of this book beg you to feel them. And as a writer that is our goal. We want you to feel the emotions behind the words. Because what are words if they aren’t felt?