my memoirs
I have just finished reading Stephen King's "On Writing: A memoir of the craft" and found it to be surprising how powerful and enjoyable it was...I think it got to me more than any other book I have read in fact, I hate to say it, but I did almost cry a little at one part.
I suppose one can wonder why I would find the book so powerful, so intimate... yet as a book on writing I also think: how can it not be? This is a book where a person talks about how they have worked, improved, tried to perfect their ability to deliver reality, life lessons, through words they write down. The attempt and tecnique of writing says a lot about a person, really the fabric of what makes up our conciousness, our realities.
This is something I wanted to touch on anyway, as I feel I am drifting more and more out of touch with reality, whatever that curious phrase is anyway... that is pretty much typical blog bullshit I suppose, but I mean it... I feel like I have a lot more moments of introspection these days, where I say to myself "What the hell is this? What the hell am I doing here? How did the universe start? How is it millions of trillions of atoms have all come to this over billions of years?" usually, for some reason, this often happens to me at a urinal... but I guess it is more than that, it is also at meetings, or when people drop by to talk for a bit... it's general affect is to make me apathetic, at least to the consequences of what is at hand, yet curious about the larger mystery of things.
I think I will take another shot at articulating this entry again sometime, but for now, I am going to a meeting, I can hardly believe it also... :/
I suppose one can wonder why I would find the book so powerful, so intimate... yet as a book on writing I also think: how can it not be? This is a book where a person talks about how they have worked, improved, tried to perfect their ability to deliver reality, life lessons, through words they write down. The attempt and tecnique of writing says a lot about a person, really the fabric of what makes up our conciousness, our realities.
This is something I wanted to touch on anyway, as I feel I am drifting more and more out of touch with reality, whatever that curious phrase is anyway... that is pretty much typical blog bullshit I suppose, but I mean it... I feel like I have a lot more moments of introspection these days, where I say to myself "What the hell is this? What the hell am I doing here? How did the universe start? How is it millions of trillions of atoms have all come to this over billions of years?" usually, for some reason, this often happens to me at a urinal... but I guess it is more than that, it is also at meetings, or when people drop by to talk for a bit... it's general affect is to make me apathetic, at least to the consequences of what is at hand, yet curious about the larger mystery of things.
I think I will take another shot at articulating this entry again sometime, but for now, I am going to a meeting, I can hardly believe it also... :/