(no subject)
Earlier this morning I managed to finish “Running With Scissors” in what I hope should become an ongoing infatuation with literature. Secretly, I’ve always wanted to become a book snob. It was just something that one should do if they were to become an intellect, someone of importance. To be well read was something I’ve been envious of dating back to earlier years when mum and I would visit my Great Aunt in Billings on the weekends. We’d traipse across I-90 for the better part of three years, four times a month to her little house on Avenue D, nestled beneath Box Elder trees, spinning seeds matting the grass and drive. She always had a book in hand, normally paperback which she would staple paper towels to the cover and wrap around to the back so to prevent germs. While I thought this was odd, I could appreciate her thinking. To this day I can’t stand libraries because who knows where the book you’ve checked out has been. Toilet reading? Absolutely disgusting. I buy my books if at all possible.
I bought a leather cased journal with gold leaf pages to serve as a reading database. Mum has had hers since she was 12 years old. The first entry being “Black Beauty” at the age of twelve, she’s managed to keep it for the past 50 years, adding a new book to the catalogue with each completion. Mine should be more impressive, though, considering it’s done with fine pen, ink, and a more suitable book. I, of course, had to carefully cut out 4 pages with an razor blade so to get the correct format and script.
The next entry shall be “Cold Mountain” and, since I have already read 425 of the 449 pages today, I think it would be in my best interest to slow down and not burn myself out on reading. All or nothing at all . . .
I’ve also decided to take up a new ongoing project that might take a year or more to complete. I’m going to start writing my memoirs. I have various authors’ work in mind for inspiration, but, after thinking about it, my own story in its truth is a bit more interesting than anything I could come up with for fiction. I’ve always wanted to write a novel. It’s on my top 10 list of life’s achievements, and, this should be a start. More so, since I’m coming out of whatever place I have been in for the past two years, I want to capture 0-20 before it’s tucked to the depth of my memory when, in 20 years time, where there is more material for a life’s work, it won’t be as lucid and fresh to draw from. I think I’m going to start with the summer before college and write to the present since it hangs raw in the meat of my mind compared to the ice burned hanks at the back of the freezer.
I bought a leather cased journal with gold leaf pages to serve as a reading database. Mum has had hers since she was 12 years old. The first entry being “Black Beauty” at the age of twelve, she’s managed to keep it for the past 50 years, adding a new book to the catalogue with each completion. Mine should be more impressive, though, considering it’s done with fine pen, ink, and a more suitable book. I, of course, had to carefully cut out 4 pages with an razor blade so to get the correct format and script.
The next entry shall be “Cold Mountain” and, since I have already read 425 of the 449 pages today, I think it would be in my best interest to slow down and not burn myself out on reading. All or nothing at all . . .
I’ve also decided to take up a new ongoing project that might take a year or more to complete. I’m going to start writing my memoirs. I have various authors’ work in mind for inspiration, but, after thinking about it, my own story in its truth is a bit more interesting than anything I could come up with for fiction. I’ve always wanted to write a novel. It’s on my top 10 list of life’s achievements, and, this should be a start. More so, since I’m coming out of whatever place I have been in for the past two years, I want to capture 0-20 before it’s tucked to the depth of my memory when, in 20 years time, where there is more material for a life’s work, it won’t be as lucid and fresh to draw from. I think I’m going to start with the summer before college and write to the present since it hangs raw in the meat of my mind compared to the ice burned hanks at the back of the freezer.