A Bucket List Dream Come True

The Oxford English Dictionary

This week a dream I thought would never come true, is going to come true. The party who is making this dream come true has asked to remain anonymous, and so I shall call this party, the angel. 

If I was offered a brand new Jeep Wrangler or a new Porsche, neither would stand a chance against the full 20-volume set of the Oxford English Dictionary

The OED is, without question, the summit of all English Language Dictionaries. Work began on it in 1857. For a time the project was called, “A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles; Founded Mainly on the Materials Collected by The Philological Society.” It was not until 1884 the dictionary began to be published in installments. It was then referred to as, “The Oxford English Dictionary,” though the name of the publication was not formally changed until 1928.

For one who writes in English (or gives it a go), the OED is an absolute feast of knowledge. Language is the material I use to create, report, observe, make a fool of myself, and, at times, not.

The angel had asked me a couple of months ago, or thereabouts, if there was anything the angel could do for me. The underpinning to the offer was the angel’s belief that I had done a lot for others, and so, is there anyway the angel could help me?

Finally, a week or two ago, I wrote to the angel and asked if the angel would consider starting a go-fund-me page to raise the funds for purchasing the full OED set. It runs around $1,200 to $1,400. In less than 24 hours, the angel let me know the angel had covered the cost of the OED, and it was on its way. 

I cried when I learned this; tears of joy you can be sure. There was even a moment when I nearly shook my head to make sure I was awake, and I was!

There are no words to adequately express how moved and grateful I am to this angel for making this dream of mine come true. Then again, if there are words to fully thank them, I will soon have the right dictionary in which to find them!

Writing no matter what

I wish, no matter what, I could write for hours, no matter what, every day, no matter what. I know this to be near impossible for me.

For more years than I will think about I’ve hoped for that moment when I could get myself to sit down and write for hours at a time, every single day. I’ve read about writers who can tuck themselves away in their writing space, and pen away or tap keys for hours on a daily basis.  I keep wondering, what am I doing wrong? Or, am I a fraud as a writer? A fake of some kind? Something like that.

As true as it is that I’m not able to write for hours at a time with any kind of consistency, it’s equally true that I’d likely be a dead man if I did not write at all. It is near fact to say, I wouldn’t know how to function. It’s also stone-cold fact to say that in my darkest moments, writing and books have prevented my suicide.

I often write because I want to, I always write because I have too.