That’s the word I’ve been looking for—osmosis. This is the whole of my education. Of course I study; I cram for exams, I write essays surrounded by books and notes, I pay attention in class and take those notes.
But I don’t remember, or consciously remember a darned thing. For example, I learned a term for this particular type of memory in a Psychology course just last year. I don’t remember the proper term at all, nor even the number of types of memory. I never did have good recall; never. But I’m sure it’s gotten worse with age.
So how come some of the elements of writing are starting to infiltrate what I produce? Why is it improving?
Osmosis.
Not just from the classes alone—although they’ve influenced me heavily and with a faster, more forceful impression, even if I couldn’t tell you two months later what I learned. It just was absorbed–maybe bypassing the Records Office of my brain. The same processing happens from reading as well. Sometimes I look back on something I’ve written and can’t believe I wrote it. Obviously, much of my style or voice has been drawn from readings that must have left their mark with twists of phrase or language that comes out of storage cells when I sit down to type.
Edgar’s laughing his fool head off.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology