I have always felt that I should be able to write a book. I am intelligent, articulate (or rather, I hope I am), funny in a you-need-to-get-my-humour kind of way... I should be able to write a book. Interesting things have happened to me, honest they have. I have lived a life less ordinary, to a certain extent, but I still find I have nothing to write about.
Which bodes well when blogging.
The faceless void that is the internet is filled with aimless bloggers such as myself, which somehow seems to make it acceptable to inflict one's boringness on others - after all, there is hardly a legal obligation to continue reading once an opinion has been formed. And, although I also think of myself as one who dares go against the masses... I have now become one of them.
There is an awful lot that I feel I should be able to do/know but don't. I know remarkably little about politics, for example - I have vague concepts, and if someone gives me a little back story then I can form an opinion, but I should know these things and be able to discuss them without prompting. But politics is just so... dry. And I should know, I have a law degree. Dry? Positively arid, most of it. But I still feel, as I bypass the news pages and head straight to facebook, a slight guilt, as though I am doing myself some grave injustice by doing so. How will I ever learn?
I should be able to learn a language. I have tried to learn a particular language on several occasions, and have failed each and every time. All I can remember is how to say that I am on a diet, which, although I usually am, is not particularly useful when one needs to know where the train one is on, is taking one.
The same goes for learning an instrument. I used to take lessons, in my younger days, but never kept it up (although I did get rather far in my singing exams). I envy those who play the piano, for example. Yet another skill to add to my ever-growing list of things to master before I die. At this rate, I'm going to need to be invincible.
I know exactly what my problem is. I never keep things up for long enough - if they're difficult, I drop them like the proverbial hot potato. I am full of empty promises to myself.
One thing I can do, however, is read. I mean, obviously I can read, but I love to read. I get through books like alcoholics get through vodka. It is my addiction. One of the reasons I dislike the drive back to the land of my origin is because I cannot read while driving - although I admit that my outrage at the price of rail travel outweighs my need to read, which is why I rarely take the train despite the 'hand-and-eye-freedom' it gives me. Plus I have recently discovered the joy of audio books, and no, I am not middle-aged, thank you.
My current 'read' is 'the Picture of Dorian Gray', Oscar Wildes creation and his only, I believe, book (although please do correct me if I am wrong). I'm about half way through, and I have to say, it's drawn me in despite the fact that hardly anything has happened. This is unusual for me. I enjoy fast paced books, and books where nothing happens for long stretches have me skimming the pages. This book intrigues me, and I will probably finish it in the next few days. Despite disagreeing with many of the statements made in this book, I have found that it has burrowed it's way into my imagination and made a little nest there. I'd best finish it before it starts procreating with the other texts in there.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles, my last read, did not grip me. I always find it odd how some books inspire such emotion in me, yet others can read it and remain entirely unaffected. Throughout most of the book, I was entirely indifferent to all of the characters, yet one of my closest friends found it incredibly emotional. I often wonder what it is that causes this - are we affected because we are narcissitic, i.e. do we only care about characters we can see ourselves in? I am certain the ability to be empathetic has little to do with it, as I am the most empathetic person I know and I fail to be affected by books frequently. How much is down to personal taste, and how much down to previous experiences?
Like I say, I have always felt that I should be able to write a book.
Which bodes well when blogging.
The faceless void that is the internet is filled with aimless bloggers such as myself, which somehow seems to make it acceptable to inflict one's boringness on others - after all, there is hardly a legal obligation to continue reading once an opinion has been formed. And, although I also think of myself as one who dares go against the masses... I have now become one of them.
There is an awful lot that I feel I should be able to do/know but don't. I know remarkably little about politics, for example - I have vague concepts, and if someone gives me a little back story then I can form an opinion, but I should know these things and be able to discuss them without prompting. But politics is just so... dry. And I should know, I have a law degree. Dry? Positively arid, most of it. But I still feel, as I bypass the news pages and head straight to facebook, a slight guilt, as though I am doing myself some grave injustice by doing so. How will I ever learn?
I should be able to learn a language. I have tried to learn a particular language on several occasions, and have failed each and every time. All I can remember is how to say that I am on a diet, which, although I usually am, is not particularly useful when one needs to know where the train one is on, is taking one.
The same goes for learning an instrument. I used to take lessons, in my younger days, but never kept it up (although I did get rather far in my singing exams). I envy those who play the piano, for example. Yet another skill to add to my ever-growing list of things to master before I die. At this rate, I'm going to need to be invincible.
I know exactly what my problem is. I never keep things up for long enough - if they're difficult, I drop them like the proverbial hot potato. I am full of empty promises to myself.
One thing I can do, however, is read. I mean, obviously I can read, but I love to read. I get through books like alcoholics get through vodka. It is my addiction. One of the reasons I dislike the drive back to the land of my origin is because I cannot read while driving - although I admit that my outrage at the price of rail travel outweighs my need to read, which is why I rarely take the train despite the 'hand-and-eye-freedom' it gives me. Plus I have recently discovered the joy of audio books, and no, I am not middle-aged, thank you.
My current 'read' is 'the Picture of Dorian Gray', Oscar Wildes creation and his only, I believe, book (although please do correct me if I am wrong). I'm about half way through, and I have to say, it's drawn me in despite the fact that hardly anything has happened. This is unusual for me. I enjoy fast paced books, and books where nothing happens for long stretches have me skimming the pages. This book intrigues me, and I will probably finish it in the next few days. Despite disagreeing with many of the statements made in this book, I have found that it has burrowed it's way into my imagination and made a little nest there. I'd best finish it before it starts procreating with the other texts in there.
Tess of the D'Urbervilles, my last read, did not grip me. I always find it odd how some books inspire such emotion in me, yet others can read it and remain entirely unaffected. Throughout most of the book, I was entirely indifferent to all of the characters, yet one of my closest friends found it incredibly emotional. I often wonder what it is that causes this - are we affected because we are narcissitic, i.e. do we only care about characters we can see ourselves in? I am certain the ability to be empathetic has little to do with it, as I am the most empathetic person I know and I fail to be affected by books frequently. How much is down to personal taste, and how much down to previous experiences?
Like I say, I have always felt that I should be able to write a book.
posted by Indigo Violet at
4:20 pm
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