Bookworm

I moved home last week after finals, so I packed up my dorm life and dumped it in my room. I had to reorganize all the clothes, pillows, toiletries, and jewelry, but first I organized my books. They are spilling off of the shelves—every semester adds quite a few, making it more and more difficult to find space for them. Despite such overabundance, I got nine new books today. They are for a class next semester, and I’m going to try to read a few before the Spring term begins, which means that I’ll get to do some reviews!

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On a Rainy Day…

…the best thing to do is to snuggle up by the fire and read. So guess what did today! …okay, okay. I’ll confess. I played Zelda for two hours.

I’m halfway through a book, but I’m having trouble—not because it’s too dense, but because it’s too fluffy. It’s a book I loved as a kid but can’t quite stomach as an adult.

The more I learn about writing, the easier it is to nit-pick. Instead of enjoying the story, I get distracted by the author’s style and vocabulary. What I need is balance between analysis and enjoyment. Often, analysis helps me enjoy books more thoroughly—last month I found myself giggling over some clever alliteration. I also found a gloriously beautiful sentence tucked away in a very dense theory text.

However, analysis often hinders enjoyment. When gaudy words splatter across the page and bleed into each other, I automatically recoil. But even as I react against wordy phrases and weak descriptions, I need to loosen up and find good aspects of the story. I could I think of myself as a vigilante who finds bad sentences and brings them to justice, but that’s a bit too dramatic. Basically, I should be critical, but not so critical that I ignore the good.