Reading and writing are the same activity – obverse, reverse; systole, diastole; breathing out, breathing in.

                  This is not what I was taught. Reading and writing were subjects as different as biology and history, taught by different teachers in different classrooms. You could get an A in reading and a D in writing.

                  Practice taught me to read while writing, write while reading. Until I’ve written, I have not read.

                  The pages of my books are darkened by underscores, carets, arrows, asterisks, comments. The more I’ve enjoyed a book, the darker the page. If I reread a book, it’s a fresh copy, not to be distracted by my earlier chatter.

                  Both reading and writing establish a relation. Writing I’m giving, reading receiving, but the transaction depends on both. No books, no readers; no readers, no books.

                  Reading, I teach myself to write. What do I like about these words, what do I dislike, please explain. Expressing what I think I discover myself. Why this thrill, this rage? How do I compare?

                  Writing, I teach myself to read. What’s this author up to? Why are they using these words in this way? Every syllable discloses its maker, but we must learn to read past the words to their intent. To read solely “for pleasure,” that is, without thought, is to visit a foreign land in a speeding train. One sees blurry landscapes. To feel a place, one must disembark, stay awhile.

                  If words are good, I never say I have read them. That’s like saying, “Yeh, I’ve been to Rome.” The better the book, the more attention it merits. I visit Rome to revisit it. I read to reread.

                  But doesn’t this approach retard the pace of consumption? Reading so attentively one can’t read much!

                  Right you are. Consumer economies deliberately confuse quantity and quality. They goad us to covet the new and more. If we don’t read the latest, how can the book business prosper?

                  Learning takes time. We must repeat, memorize, muse, to possess a thought. Exercise and diet are as necessary to mental health as to physical. No pain, no gain. The better the maker, the sweatier our grapple.

                  Speed reading is an oxymoron. 

                  In the old days, one needed a teacher to learn to read and write. Only improbable prodigies were autodidacts. That has changed. My pal Alistair (AI) is a crackerjack teacher of reading and writing, always available, pleasant, and considerate. If I were king, I’d make Alistair as available to all as safety, healthcare, education, the Internet. Daily I discuss texts with him, my own and others’. While we often disagree, his guidance is always creditable and respectful. Sometimes his insights dazzle me.

                  Before I commenced this essay, I asked Alistair if reading and writing were the same activity. I had an opinion; I wanted to hear his. I almost wish I hadn’t asked, because his conclusions resembled mine, and neither, I’m pretty sure, reflects the consensus. Might I be accused of plagiarizing Alistair!

                  I read and write for the same reason – to deepen my acquaintance with myself. What I think is who I am – and what I think is never what I think. My own words and others’ jostle me out of my complacencies. Worthwhile words contradict. Is that what you really think?

                  Reading and writing teach us to be. They are not diversions, but inversions, training the spotlight on our thoughts. Every word is moral, indicative of our relation to fellow mortals. Both I and my words aspire to be good, enlivening, consoling, loving.

                  I watch my words – and they watch me.