on not being a book snob and other enlightenment

 

there are so many things i want to write about...so much going on in my Thinker and lots of little changes that i'm implementing into my days here, chez WHF*, but it's all in a bit of a jumble. so i'll just dive in, sans carefully-crafted segues and clever organization.

i've read some lovely books -- some of which weren't in my usual genre, but so very happy-making in their own way that they showed me just how much of a judgey-judgepants i've been.

i absolutely loathe literary snobbery - truly, i'd like to smack the high-and-mighties in the chops - but seem to have been mildly guilty of it myself.

let ye not cast the first stone...

or something.

i was listening to one of my favourite writerly podcasts the other day -- one which i stopped listening to during The Great Writing Drought because it served to point out, by it's very existence, the fact i wasn't writing and so therefore made me feel a bit shit about myself -- anyway, Joanna (i call her by her first name because when you listen to enough podcasts by a person, you start to feel like they're talking to you personally and that you're almost besties. or maybe that's just me) was interviewing a fellow who's an editor and they were touching upon what makes a book Good.

his opinion was/is -- that Good is concerned with reader experience and satisfaction and that different readers require different things.

cool, huh?

so -- is Fifty Shades of Grey a Good Book?

if the satisfaction [ :O ] of a million or so readers is anything to go by, it must be.

same for the Twilight series.

and that gave me pause.

because he's right - they're Good, because loads of readers greatly enjoyed the experience of reading them.

they're Good books, even though i wouldn't hold either of them up as examples of Good Writing.

but who gives a rat's arse what i think?

turns out,  i am a Terrible Snob about books such as "those"....and....*whispers*... i haven't even read them!

GASP!

the whole idea of which provides delicious amounts of discussion fodder for such joyous writerly geekery that it fair makes me clap my hands with fiendish and nerdly glee.

what that has to do with the price of tea in China, i've no idea.

 

anyway -- the books i gobbled up over last weekend were by the lovely Sarah Painter -- also one of my very best favourite writerly podcasts.

her books are sort of romance-ish, magical-realism-ish, supernatural-ish and, upon strictly a cover-view,  not something i would normally gravitate towards. but because i'm a fan of Sarah's, i wanted to support her writing by buying her books. and i'm so glad i did because i truly, truly enjoyed them.

it's so easy, i think, to get into a reading rut; to say, 'oh, i only read such-and-such [insert genre here]'.  granted, i spend most of my time in the realms of magical-realism and fantasy/fairytale, because that's what i like and that's what i write, but it's good to step out of one's reading zone from time to time.

which is why i love recommendations.

for instance, i had always thought i wouldn't, for assorted reasons, like audiobooks.  but i tried one because Jo suggested i should and when Jo suggests, i listen.

lo and behold, i LOVE listening to audiobooks. and they're doubly good because i prefer not to multi-task, so i make myself a cup of tea and sit down and just. listen.

which is radical self-care in my world.

also, James Marsters.

*sigh*

 

in other news, the writing continues apace.

when i started back, i gave myself the goal of an hour or 500 words, whichever came first. i'm now getting around about 1000 words in per session which i'm quite, quite happy with. it's rarely an uninterrupted hour - more like 40-50 accumulated minutes - but that gives it the air of Pomodoro which i find to be moste productive.

which just goes to show you, when i tell myself i haven't got the time to write, i'm totally blowing smoke up my own arse.

imagine what i could do with more free hours in my day?

believe me, i have.

imagined, that is.

anyway.

i'm not quite sure what or where i'm going with this current piece. i always start out with an idea of what something will be, but it invariably wrests control from my grubby little hands at some point. i'm happy to go along for the ride. suffice it to say, my Why is ever more clear to me now, which will ultimately have an impact on the final product.

what i can tell you, is that the main character's name is Hazel and she lives in a cottage in rural Northumbria. beyond that, it's veiled in mystery. :)

so there we are.

further updates as events warrant.

so, to finish...a Question Moste Provoking, for you, Dear Reader -- what is something that you think you don't have time for?

OR, if you'd prefer something Less Provoking: name something about which you are an unintentional snob.

ponder and discuss.

~m. xo

next time: my new vacuum and aerial predator claims life of chicken.

*for new readers - WHF = Wuthering Heights Farm...the slightly indulgent  name of our little homestead