Truth is reality. That which is. Honesty is the act of telling others truths about yourself.
I am reading On Writing Well by William Zinsser. His accolades are numerous. Rarely am I so affected by an author that I will implement their way of thinking before finishing the text. Bravo! I am masticating on each noun with the pace of the renown tortoise, slow and steady. The verbs are being swooshed back and forth in my mouth and spit out. He covers libertarian journalist H.L. Mencken's The Scopes Trial, while I use scope metaphors. Needless to say I have taken it to heart that I need to take words out that I do not need to say over and over.
My work at internofchrist.blogspot.com already contains elements of this style. I re-edited my political piece on charity. Zinsser claims to be indebted to E.B. White, who scribed three classics I read and enjoyed as a child. Charlotte's Web, Stuart Little, and the Trumpet of the Swan tickled my mental ears into perking. I understand why. Writing is subject to the same natural laws that bind the finite. People are born with different strengths and weaknesses, but these predispositions do not preclude greatness in a skill one was born weak in. A legal midget can train hard enough to dunk on a standard National Basketball Association rim. A blind, deaf, and dumb girl can become an illustrious writer. E.B. White took his katana and practiced the same swinging motion thousands of times a day. Devotion can overcome the inequities of man.
I apologize to those whom have been lured into the muck of my cascading rhetorical flourish. Perhaps my perpetual peering into the powder puff powerpoint presentations of politicians, perturbed my proclivity to prettily pursue poetic prose. Now the word slinger will jet out of the holster straight from the hip. POW! Right in the kisser, and straight to the dome.