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I consider myself an ordinary person.  Not especially erudite or knowledgeable.  (To paraphrase someone—I forget who—my education has not been hampered by formal schooling.)  A Jill of all trades and certainly master of none. While I could wish for a degree in literature, or at least a more extensive vocabulary, I make do with the abilities I have.

I am by no means an “expert” on anything at all. But “expertise” is overrated, in my opinion, and often more public relations than actual know-how.  And all of us have things we are good at, whether or not we can ever claim to be “the best” (another designation that is more perception than reality).  So, each of us has something to contribute to society.

Me, I contribute my books:  my imaginings of how love and life can be, of the world as it was or might yet be.  And if readers are enlightened or inspired or just entertained for a few hours or days, that makes my efforts worthwhile.

Has reading fiction helped you?  If so, in what way?

[Thanks to Gober for the featured image.]