It’s funny how much you can absorb without intending to. The other night I put on a classical channel in the background. An elegant but weighty piece came on and I looked up to see that it was by Brahms. Makes sense, I thought.
The next tune was lighter, a sparkling Baroque presence. Telemann. Ah yes, I thought.
Finally, a dramatic, Romantic sound that spoke of strength with warmth. Dvořák, of course.
Of course? What do I know about classical music? Nothing, that’s what. But my father played it all through my childhood and apparently some of it sank in.
It’s the same with writing, I find. I’m not great at picking apart a story into pieces like sixth-grade sentence deconstruction. (That may have something to do with my memories of actual sixth-grade sentence deconstruction. Ugh.)
Whatever genre I’m exploring, I prefer to swim in it, absorb it, dive deep until I am close enough to understand why some readers love it, even if I don’t.
That way, I absorb more than I know.
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J.R. Johnson 
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