The matter of kindred spirits.

I don’t like some acknowledged very good writers. I concede they are good. But still, I don’t like ‘em.  Because they write in ways that I don’t like to read. Too pretty-like. Too descriptive. Too detailed. It’s almost as if they are in love with words for the sake of being in love with words. They overdo it. They don’t get to the essence quickly enough. Instead, they flower things up. They try to dazzle. Descriptively. Asking me to absorb too much. I don’t need to know the color of one’s tie. Or the shape of the buttons on one’s suit. Or whether one has big ears or small ears. Give me more substance. More pertinence. Of course, I can be easily criticized for the way I write. But it doesn’t bother me. Because I’m not out to please every reader. Only a very few kindred spirits. The same may go for the writers I don’t like. Maybe it’s that we aren’t kindred anything. –Jim Broede