31.8.17

A Basketful of Nettles, A Dream of Swan Wings




You might as well prepare for a degree of befuddlement if you are going to visit here over the next little while. I can almost guarantee the template will change and change again. I'm in the waiting-for-story part of my creative process (which is to say, my life) and am falling in love ... and then out of love ... with a dozen moods and scenes every day. One morning I will be wandering along imaginary lanes hedged by wild roses, by afternoon I will be listening to solemn classical music played by a lonely woman in an old, empty room after the devastation, and the next morning I will be watching rescuers leap over stone walls to save people from perilous magic. It is a little confusing.

The problem is that, once I begin a project, I become absorbed by it to the point where I am something like a girl in a tree, weaving nettles, dreaming of swan wings, muted to reality by the imperatives of the magic. I want to be sure then that the project is worth aching fingers and lost languages. 

Complicating matters is that my reading inclinations are changing as I get older, and so my story telling too. I no longer need to be excited in a story. I don't seek tales of derring-do and danger; infact, I find it stressful to always be worrying what might happen next. I prefer cleverness (alas for our loss of Terry Pratchett!) A book doesn't even have to be beautiful written, just lovely and sincere, and created with a reasonable degree of skill.

Most of all, I read for characters. The interior adventures of a heroine are more interesting to me these days than the exterior ones. This makes writing a little difficult as I can seldom be bothered with all the doings, and the surroundings; I just want to get to the parts when people argue and then make up.

Has your reading changed over time? Or are you still interested in the sorts of books that caught your heart when you were younger?


art by kinuko craft

3 comments:

  1. I recognise that last bit. In fact, it's why I'd find it difficult to write a novel for instance or even an essay. (I used to love making up stories) I can talk about what I myself am DOING, but I really have no clue what fictional characters ought to be up to.

    ReplyDelete
  2. I, too, like the interiors, more than the exteriors. The heart and soul, the deep thought and desires. I've grown to look more inward with time.. but not age, which I seem to be indifferent to.
    You always make me ponder, and grow. ♥

    ReplyDelete
  3. i still love all the books i loved as a child, but i find that i have less stomach for wrenching tragedy than i used to do...there are many stories that need to be told, or that are really well-conceived and well-written fiction, but they hurt too much for me now. i have to be a little careful what i read, just as i need to be careful about how i get my news and what i eat and drink.

    i smiled when i saw the title of this post; this image is currently my facebook page header...
    https://i.pinimg.com/564x/5e/70/6d/5e706d76921cfd13bef42791875615af.jpg

    ReplyDelete