Who Am I to Post A List Of Kentucky's Authors?

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It may be easier to start with who I am not.

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I am not a literary scholar.  I did learn the difference between prose and poetry from Lane Allen, but my knowledge of literary styles and devices ends there.  Ask me not to parse passion from pathos, for I would plummet.

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I am not a published writer. I do write: biographies, fiction.  I hope to one day publish my writings but that’s another story.

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I am not a polished writer. I still struggle with the basics of writing skills, such as grammar and sometimes punctuation and sometimes using words accurately, eloquently. I don't think I could ever match the grandiloquent vocabulary of Kentucky's pre-World War II writers, who can? 

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I am a reader.

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I hold forth this single avocation as my only credential to post my list of Kentucky authors.

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I read to experience the story, to be carried by the current of the story.

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I also study style as I read, the way the writer spins the tale.  I watch how words are used.  I keep track of how the writer reveals and ripens the main characters.  The thread of the story is important to me and this is where I wish not but often find most of my criticisms.  Of course, the landing, the way the tale ends, is my final taste test.

 

I am a reader, yet I am also a spectator of the reader, of myself, measuring how the written words flow from the pages and connect with me.

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So, what is my credential for posting my list of Kentucky's authors: I read.  I read from the writings of Kentucky's authors.

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There is, of course, more about me than that I read.

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I am the husband of a marvelous wife, a soul companion, a delightful woman.

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I am the proud father of three grown sons, men of distinction.

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I am the son of missionaries, raised in central Africa with my two brothers, many years ago: an ordinary family who were in an extraordinary setting. (Read about it here.)

 

I am old fashioned and somewhat set in my ways, with a myriad of interests, maybe too many.

 

I am interested in the flowers alongside the road, the eyes of my wife, the way a fence follows a field, clouds in the sky, a child at play, the rain passing through the trees, a cyclist on a city street, the temperature outside, the sounds of a distant train, people in conversation, the movement of water, the future of cell phones and, obviously, Kentucky authors.

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It seems that my personal time is shared between collections, recollections and introspection.  I twiddle with transistor radios (my collection), with small trains, with woodwork, with lawnmowers, with cooking, with counseling, with my cat.  I freed myself from facebook and cable TV.  I think of my past more often these days and I pressure myself less than I used to.

 

Educated as a forest ecologist and hydrologist, I am also a frustrated historian and an amateur geologist.  Where others might see trees and rocks and streams and farms, I see communities, processes,  patterns and cycles.

  

I am a believer that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, who’s sacrifice of death on the cross paid my debt of sin and, as Scripture explains, I now dwell with the Spirit of God as an adopted child of Almighty God. (See my library of Christian literature here.)

 

I am a Kentuckian.

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I am Ray Albright.

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