Tied to the testing of wills
So I finished Easy Riders, Raging Bulls, the book I was reading. Depressingly, this is actually quite a big deal. I am excited for reading more! I have gone through my collection and gathered the books that need reading and piled them up in some sort of order. I am at least one Wheel of Time book behind at the moment, possibly two, so at any point in this reading campaign I can substitute the next book for a WoT one, so by the time I've got to the end of the pile the latest will be out in paperback and I can read it. There's books I want but I'm not buying or borrowing any more until this pile is gone.
I'm going to start with House of Leaves, because, you know, it's House of Leaves. A book I really enjoyed and never finished and has been hanging over me for a few years now, carried through at least four houses I've lived in during that time.
I haven't given up on writing either. I wrote five hundred words about a girl who was really good at coming up with names for things and couldn't find a way to end it so I wrote five hundred more words about not being able to write but that was more microdocumentary than microfiction so I'll tidy up one of those pieces and post it here eventually, but right now I really want to read some, because this shit is crazy.
Easy Riders, Raging Bulls was lent to me by my Dad. It's a non-ficion work detailing the rise of The New Hollywood and the fall of the studio system in the '70s, and how all these genius directors couldn't cope with success and fucked themselves over. A very detailed account of what went on, who slept with whom and what drugs they took. No-one ends up likeable, except maybe Hal Ashby, and he ends up dying of pancreatic cancer and fear of doctors. No-one gets what they want. Or, if they do, they aren't happy about it. It's easy to see why the right wing think of Hollywood as the devil incarnate and it's hard to disagree with them. Still, I don't care; I love films.
I'm going to start with House of Leaves, because, you know, it's House of Leaves. A book I really enjoyed and never finished and has been hanging over me for a few years now, carried through at least four houses I've lived in during that time.
I haven't given up on writing either. I wrote five hundred words about a girl who was really good at coming up with names for things and couldn't find a way to end it so I wrote five hundred more words about not being able to write but that was more microdocumentary than microfiction so I'll tidy up one of those pieces and post it here eventually, but right now I really want to read some, because this shit is crazy.
Easy Riders, Raging Bulls was lent to me by my Dad. It's a non-ficion work detailing the rise of The New Hollywood and the fall of the studio system in the '70s, and how all these genius directors couldn't cope with success and fucked themselves over. A very detailed account of what went on, who slept with whom and what drugs they took. No-one ends up likeable, except maybe Hal Ashby, and he ends up dying of pancreatic cancer and fear of doctors. No-one gets what they want. Or, if they do, they aren't happy about it. It's easy to see why the right wing think of Hollywood as the devil incarnate and it's hard to disagree with them. Still, I don't care; I love films.