(no subject)
I have had a strange, angsty weekend. Mostly I think it's PMS, but exacerbated by irrational anxiety (also PMS-related) about everything I have to do (e.g., I think, "I should grade this stack of quizzes that will take less than 15 minutes" and instantly have a panic attack). This has been mixed with the disgruntling sense that I don't like what other people like in books. I know that this is, to a large extent, stupid and irrational, because I like lots of the same books other people like. It's more that my weekend reading involved three books I stumbled upon through reviews. Two of them, which the reviewers raved about, were distinctly underwhelming in my opinion. One of them left me scratching my head, wondering wtf was going on for most of the book and completely baffled by the character interactions, and the other left me in a similar state of head-scratching, but that time because the character who kept bringing up his reservations about the future of their relationship was totally right, and the one answering him was pretty much just ignoring him and spouting the same nonsense over and over. The third (which I read first) was one the reviewer didn't particularly like, but for reasons that I figured wouldn't bother me: too much narrative, not enough dialogue, very little drama between the characters. I figured it would be a quick Friday night read, but my expectations were low. I loved it! It was totally believable, didn't rush, had no unnecessary conflict or characters being incredibly stupid for no particular reason other than to create drama, and a very happy ending. All of which left me feeling like an anomaly.
Yes, I know this is stupid. Everybody likes what they like and hates what they hate, and it's pretty much personal preference once you get past the technical merit of well-written sentences, coherent storylines, and developed characters. I've just been feeling like a weird photonegative of the likes/dislikes of other people who read m/m fiction. That, in turn, makes me grumpy about writing, because I'm hyperaware of writing the sort of thing I like to read, and apparently what I like to read is boring to lots of people. (Ugh, hormones, please level out and go back to normal. I am so not onboard with this self-loathing/anxiety thing.)
So I took a step back from what I'm supposed to be revising and wrote this little silly snuggle instead. It was inspired by my favorite part of this morning's sermon, of all things, borrowing a metaphor from CS Lewis: Sometimes you understand what God is doing with you. Sometimes it's like fixing the plumbing or replacing a lightbulb. Other times you don't understand why he's knocking down walls and throwing up turrets you didn't ask for. It doesn't make sense until you realize that, while you were content to be a cottage, God has been making you into a palace, because he's moving in.
Apparently, if you're not careful, so will Rich from Lumber. ^_~
Yes, I know this is stupid. Everybody likes what they like and hates what they hate, and it's pretty much personal preference once you get past the technical merit of well-written sentences, coherent storylines, and developed characters. I've just been feeling like a weird photonegative of the likes/dislikes of other people who read m/m fiction. That, in turn, makes me grumpy about writing, because I'm hyperaware of writing the sort of thing I like to read, and apparently what I like to read is boring to lots of people. (Ugh, hormones, please level out and go back to normal. I am so not onboard with this self-loathing/anxiety thing.)
So I took a step back from what I'm supposed to be revising and wrote this little silly snuggle instead. It was inspired by my favorite part of this morning's sermon, of all things, borrowing a metaphor from CS Lewis: Sometimes you understand what God is doing with you. Sometimes it's like fixing the plumbing or replacing a lightbulb. Other times you don't understand why he's knocking down walls and throwing up turrets you didn't ask for. It doesn't make sense until you realize that, while you were content to be a cottage, God has been making you into a palace, because he's moving in.
Apparently, if you're not careful, so will Rich from Lumber. ^_~