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!
…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.