Confessions

You know, when I started this blog and thought I'd write about writing and books, I didn't think I'd keep the theme up for long. But I can't stop thinking about other things I want to blog about. It's a little like when I create a story, I'll have one thread and think 'well, I can't make a story out of that' and then I'll think of the characters they'll need, for good or bad, in their lives and then I'll have too much to include. At least with a blog I can make thought transitions throughout blogs, or just create a new post whenever I wish to digress (which you may have noticed I do. At length).

So that's my first confession, that I was worried for a block that has yet to happen. The second is, that I haven't written for a while. This happened with uprooted, and is now happening with budding (working titles, dear lord they're working titles!) - I get so close to the end and even though it's the more exciting bit, I want to write the aftermath (or, the next one) so I haven't even thought about chapter 16 until this week. Honestly. I've got a little more of 15 to do, and most of 17, but maybe it's the anticipation of starting the next one is too great, or the worry that I won't be good enough to write what I want to at the pivotal moment. I will write it, and soon, but I think I need to daydream for a little while longer first.

This leads, and is part, of my third confession. When I write, I sometimes act out scenes (obviously, in private, in silence) so I can work out the flow of conversation, how to describe the characters reactions ... I feel a little like I have multiple personality disorder, but it works for me. I like being in a certain place at work, because when it's quiet, I do create scenes in my head, and have been for a good few years now (this probably isn't something I should confess, since I know one of my managers reads this, lol). I mean, I still do all the work I'm meant to, but it's not exactly strenuous mentally so I can do the physical work as I daydream.

The last confession, however, isn't mine. We were talking at work today, about books (since I finally finished Wuthering Heights on my break and couldn't wait for this moment to blab that fact) and one of my coworkers, we'll call him 'Lucas' ... confessed he'd never finished a book. I mean, I'm sure he had to when he was younger, but he's never willingly read and finished a book. Lizzy and I were a little shocked, because I'm sure we'd both live in a bookshop if that was an option (or, the library in Beauty And The Beast. When I saw that scene in that film, I got so jealous of Belle). I know some people don't read for leisure, but I just can't leave a book unfinished. Well, I didn't finish 'Great Expectations' for English, but Charles Dickens writing is so droll (and I was born on his birthday, I was so excited we were reading him until they thrust that book at us. Surely there's better Dickens books?) that it almost didn't matter. And we watched a video so I got to the conclusion anyway. But anyway, if I've picked it up, it doesn't matter how long it takes me, how many other books I read between chapters (because even at this moment, I'm technically in the middle of about 5 books, The Post-Birthday World, On The Road, How To Talk To A Widower, Dracula and Percy Jackson And The Lightning Thief... I think that's right. I can't tell you the last time I read any of those, however) I will finish. I see long, difficult, or actionless books as a challenge to overcome. Two other women at work said that although they don't read often, when they do, they get really stuck in. But they're both mothers to children older than my son, so they're forgiven - my parents spend years reading the same book, but they persevere until the end too. Maybe that's where I get it from?

50 books to read before you die

I know it's a strange title. It's based on my bookmark, which lists the 50 books or series waterstones recommend to read in your lifetime. At 25, I have read 11 of those books, I've almost finished the twelfth (three chapters from the end of Wuthering Heights! I'm so proud of this achievement, I may reread something like Twilight in cushy celebration of conquering that mountain. Although, not Twilight, because the parallels between the books are eerily apparent to me. Shopaholic Abroad would do) and I've read about half a chapter of number 13. I'm determined to finish the list before I turn 40, and my son turns 18 (same year. Hello, midlife crisis in 2025!) but I'll keep you updated on here as I achieve it, obviously.

So anyway, I was thinking, as I read Wuthering Heights/read "Twilight without any happily-ever-afters" about why I dislike certain books over others. Aside from exacerbating situations or conversations which should be brief or nonexistent and therefore feel like padding, or the reverse where you have to write between the lines to comprehend what the characters are doing. I think with some books, it's the references. Twilight, Pretty Bad Things, and especially House of Night, have all leaned too reliantly on other works. Now, I know that there's not really such thing as a new idea any more, just a rewrite of old ideas, a restructuring. It's especially evident in sitcoms, where I could rewrite most scenes a dozen different ways and instead sit there saying lines before the characters because it's so predictable, having been in another sitcom (especially evident when you watch as many sitcoms as I do). I'm not saying by any means that authors these days should be inventive, because God knows how pedestrian I would be otherwise. But the parallel between new work and the old work should be subtle. House of Night annoyed me more because I was halfway through Bram Stoker's Dracula (another mountain to climb. I hate the lack of suspense) when I read one of the books. It was already established that Zoey's favourite book was Dracula, but then she has this conversation with one of her many boyfriends and ruined the effing ending! P.C.Cast and Kristen Cast shouldn't have assumed that everyone's read it. But obviously, that's going to play in parallel to Zoey's current dilemma. Mostly, it's the reptition of the phrases, of the titles, of how the characters in the newer books relate to the old characters. If I wanted to read the old books, I would (Wuthering Heights is on the list of 50, hence why I bothered to pick it up. Bram Stoker because I want to find a decent Vampire book. Anne Rice has a lot of burden on her shoulders to bear for that, I still haven't got around to Interview With A Vampire).

Another thing that annoys me, which is similar, is an author getting too into the success of their work. Sue Townsend does it with Adrian Mole in a few books. It was okay when he was on TV with Offally Good! but when his school friend wrote a book called Adain Vole, or the Adrian Mole TV show came out ... uh, it put me right off a series I loved growing up.

I sound so disgruntled right now, don't I? It's not that I am, it's just ... aren't these things you should expect from authors? That they try for their own merit, but don't rub it in that they have something of merit? Repetition and recognition of their other works in newer books I can deal with, I like the way they're trying to create their own intricate world. But that therein is the point. It's their world.

Pause.

Firstly, sorry for being so petty in my last blog. Since I couldn't physically hurt blogspot, that vented my anger nicely. Sorry blogspot.

I will repost what I was saying though, but it might take me a few days. It took ages to write.

Anyway, every now and again I've been trying to read "Wuthering Heights" here and there, and after a long pause I've got back to it. I don't know how long it'll be before I give up on it. I didn't like Charlotte Bronte's writing, I'm finding Emily's just as arduous. It's not because of the language, because if a phrase doesn't make sense I'm more likely to skim over the text and get the jist of what's being said (it's how I got through C.S.Lewis' autobiography, I didn't have half the vocabulary he used at the time) and I liked Jane Austen's Pride And Prejudice so it's not because of the era. It's something about the Bronte's style. That or I don't like three pages dedicated to making porridge (or starting up a motorcycle, Stefenie Meyer) and I wish she'd just get on with it. Heathcliff's a bastard, Cathy's a nutjob who's going to die soon, I get it already (I'm at chapter 14, by the way).

But it's either this or Percy Jackson. Hmmm. I wasn't impressed by the blurb. And I hate first pages of books that start by warning you off the book. Um, don't you want people to read? I'm aware I might be prejudiced before I read, but I'll be prejudiced throughout the book. I'll still read until the end.