Words.
I've been reading a lot of articles by Tim Rogers on Kotaku lately. The man is insane. He writes long, novella-like articles about video games, Japan and its culture, and a whole host of other things that somehow manage to tie back into video games. I have no idea how this man's mind works. Maybe it's because he up and moved to Japan to work in the game-design industry. It may have made him crazy. But it's all very fascinating. I would love to write like he does, just remarking on a bunch of stuff, making tenuous by interesting links between different topics, and possibly having it all come back to a central point (but not necessarily). But I think that in order to write like he does, I'd have to think like he does. And I don't. And I probably won't.
How does one change the way one thinks? I'm kind of reminded of a book I borrowed from a friend: Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. He said it was a book about thinking. I've gotten about two chapters in, and I've moved on to other books. I've also stopped reading other books I started reading after having put GEB down. I have finished a few. But I can't quite say for sure why I stopped in the first place. Maybe I wasn't making enough progress? Maybe I didn't find the book interesting? I don't think that's the case. I could have brought the book back at any point in the last, er, year that I've borrowed it. I feel like I'll get back to it in time.
I've also started and put down The Illuminatus Trilogy and Quicksilver, two books as hefty as GEB. It's not that I am unable to read books of such length. I hope. Does Harry Potter count? I think the font size in the Potter books was a bit larger. Maybe an easier read, too. But I've read other Neal Stephenson books. Hell, I've read Tad Williams books. Quicksilver shouldn't be a thing. But it is, and it pains me. I can turn around and look at Heinlein's I Will Fear No Evil, and the bookmark I've placed in it. I've gotten quite far into it. And it's compelling. I've been on a Heinlein kick for quite some time now, and the path that this is leading me down will end, unequivocally, with Isaac Asimov. Which I'm looking forward to. Both Asimov and Heinlein were authors that I rejected in my youth for reasons that I could not even make up at this point in time.
This entire post feels somewhat unfleshed out. It seems like there were some thoughts of greater import, swirling around in my head, hoping to find their way onto the screen. And it hasn't happened. Maybe I'm close to being able to write the way I want to write. But am I close to thinking the way I want to think? I don't think so.
How does one change the way one thinks? I'm kind of reminded of a book I borrowed from a friend: Gödel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. He said it was a book about thinking. I've gotten about two chapters in, and I've moved on to other books. I've also stopped reading other books I started reading after having put GEB down. I have finished a few. But I can't quite say for sure why I stopped in the first place. Maybe I wasn't making enough progress? Maybe I didn't find the book interesting? I don't think that's the case. I could have brought the book back at any point in the last, er, year that I've borrowed it. I feel like I'll get back to it in time.
I've also started and put down The Illuminatus Trilogy and Quicksilver, two books as hefty as GEB. It's not that I am unable to read books of such length. I hope. Does Harry Potter count? I think the font size in the Potter books was a bit larger. Maybe an easier read, too. But I've read other Neal Stephenson books. Hell, I've read Tad Williams books. Quicksilver shouldn't be a thing. But it is, and it pains me. I can turn around and look at Heinlein's I Will Fear No Evil, and the bookmark I've placed in it. I've gotten quite far into it. And it's compelling. I've been on a Heinlein kick for quite some time now, and the path that this is leading me down will end, unequivocally, with Isaac Asimov. Which I'm looking forward to. Both Asimov and Heinlein were authors that I rejected in my youth for reasons that I could not even make up at this point in time.
This entire post feels somewhat unfleshed out. It seems like there were some thoughts of greater import, swirling around in my head, hoping to find their way onto the screen. And it hasn't happened. Maybe I'm close to being able to write the way I want to write. But am I close to thinking the way I want to think? I don't think so.