This ‘not blogging’ thing isn’t really working. Ever since I said I hadn’t got time for blogging, I’ve done considerably fewer words. Maybe blogging is my warm up…
So, I missed word count confession yesterday because I was out gallivanting. This week’s words then are 3,584 which is a fine and dandy word count but if I want to finish the draft by the end of the month, I’ve got to do better than that.
I finally finished Love in the time of Cholera which had been November’s book club’s choice and I hadn’t managed to finish for the meeting. Each time I picked up the book to read it I enjoyed it but I was never desperate to get back to it. It felt a bit like wading through treacle – quite pleasant but hard work. I think if I’d studied it I would have enjoyed it so much more. Is that okay? It’s not the immediate gratification that I want with a book I’m reading for pleasure but the depth of love can be so much greater if it’s been studied. Does anyone write with the hope that their book will be studied rather than just read?
Why is Florentino Ariza so entirely revolting? With his comb over and his constipation? Is it simply that love conquers all or have I missed something?
I don’t know what’s possessed me but my next choice is The Time Traveller’s Wife. No, *sigh* I haven’t read it already: my heart sinks at the notion of time travel – it’s the suspension of disbelief that I struggle with. Still, it was held up somewhere recently as a fine example of moving its readers (making them weep for all the right reasons) and I found myself thinking ‘oh, okay, perhaps I’d better read that.’ And... it has been on my TBR shelf for years and I'm getting SOOO much grief for the overflowingness of the TBR book shelves at at the moment that I thought I'd better read it… one down, 352 books to go.