Old friends: the joy of rediscovery

Re-reading a book that you have loved is a little like meeting up with an old friend you haven't seen for some time.

Over time, we all change, and the way we relate to other people and things changes to reflect this. It's the same with books. I've just finished rereading The English Patient, which I last read when I was in my mid-teens. I loved the novel and the film, although the film was quite different from the book, as is often the case. Minghella managed to capture the essence of the novel: the beauty of Ondaatje's writing was translated into stunning cinematography.

Reading The English Patient, what struck me was the craft that went into the writing of it. I found myself reading much more slowly than normal, savoring the words to the point where I would read passages aloud to listen to the rhythm of the words. It's exquisite.

The way Ondaatje weaves the four narratives together, slipping between the past and the present is impressive. I found myself having to read passages more than once to appreciate the the technique; I'd got too caught up in the story to notice how they'd been constructed. The prose is sparse but achingly beautiful in places. Not a single word is wasted.

I love The English Patient now more than I did when I first read it at 17 because appreciate the work that has gone into it. The precision of the sentences, the scenes, the character development and the research that went into writing a novel set at the end of the Second World War.

Welcome back, old friend.

The toil and the passion

Christmas is creeping up on us far too quickly. I haven't even thought about Christmas shopping yet as I've been far too busy trying to get through all the work I need to do before the end of term.

Of course, it didn't help that yesterday was spectacularly unproductive. I have no idea where most of the day went, and it didn't help that I had to go a buy two new tyres after running over a nail and then finding out my spare was cracked.

I'm now really glad that I turned down paid work over Christmas. The money would have be useful, but as we found out this week we have to produce an outline and the first thirty pages of our novel for January, it looks like it's going to be a busy 'holiday.' My dilemma now is which idea to go for? I have an existing novel I've been working on, plus a couple of new ideas which I'd love to take further.

A conversation with one of my flatmates helped to put it all into perspective. Living in a house with nine other people who are all in and out all the time means you don't necessarily see some of them all that often. So when you do run into each other it's good to catch up. He was asking me about the course (one thing I have discovered since I started the MA is that writers love to talk about their work, and I am no exception), and after I had talked for some time, he commented that I seemed really passionate about the course, and my work.

Afterwards, I felt better. Passion for writing is why I'm here - I'm doing exactly what I want to be doing right now. The truth is that sometimes we all need reminding why we're doing what we're doing. You can get bogged down in the details when what you really need to do is take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

In which I discover I am a closet geek/nerd

The time has come for me to admit it. I am a closet geek.

Technically that should be nerd, but somehow geek sounds better than nerd. OK, I'll explain. I'm remembering a conversation I had with a friend not so long ago about geeks, nerds and dorks. I'm sure many will question the following descriptions, but here goes:
1. Geek - someone with an obsessive interest in a specialised subject area. The classic example of this is a computer geek.
2. Nerd - someone who loves learning generally
3. Dork - often clumsy, awkward and always doing/saying the wrong thing.

My earlier capering around the library would but me firmly in the nerd category. But nerd just isn't really a word we use here. Unlike many Americanisms, this one hasn't really caught on here.

I went over to Woodlane library today to check out the graphic novels and picture books - a little bit of research for something I've been thinking about. Most of the books I was looking at were reference only, however, I still managed to come out with four books to add to the growing stack beside my bed.

One of the great things about this course is that you can justify reading almost anything. Today I came out with a couple of books of short stories, Alan de Botton's How Proust Can Change Your Life and a book about Chick Lit that had an interesting cover and blue & pink pages. Whether it will be any good or not remains to be seen, but I'll give it a go.

Decisions, decisions......

I'm tired tonight: it's been a pretty intense day.

As usual, my head is full of ideas, thoughts and random crap. This week, we've had taster sessions in Features and Non-Fiction writing. Pretty soon I'm going to have to make a decision about what I'm going to specialise in next term. I particularly enjoyed the non-fiction session - but now I'm more confused than ever as I hadn't even really considered taking non-fiction before. The whole process of coming up with an idea, researching and pitching it to the rest of the group was fascinating. It also sounds as though there is more opportunity to get published, which has also got to be a consideration. Hmmm.......

Highlight of the day was the session with literary agent Victoria Hobbs. Victoria was kind enough to give us some of the tricks of the trade (including what not to do when approaching a literary agent). I felt as though she gave us a realistic picture of the current status of industry and our chances of being published.

Interestingly, she told us it's actually easier to get published as a new writer than someone who has already been published. And the best news - everyone wants young adult/crossover fiction. Now all I have to do is finish the novel. Speaking of which.....

The death of sleep

I'm in a curious, reflective mood tonight. Ideas are literally clustering around me, jostling for space in my already overcrowed head. My notebook is fast filling up with things to be developed at a later date.

Recently I've noticed a return of the insommnia that peppered my teenage years. Too many thoughts, too little time. I guess that means I'll be burning the midnight oil again.....

But apart from the lack of sleep, this can only be a good thing. After all, this is what I came here for. I've been reading some more of my coursemates' Lady of Shalott inspired stories the evening, I'm impressed. It's fascinating seeing the variety of responses to the same exercise. Each is unique, and distinctive, offering up a different perspective. Every week, we are challenged to do something different, something outside our comfort zone. The best thing is that it doesn't matter if it doesn't work. You learn from it, and you move on.

This morning we had a session on writing for children. We began by looking at some examples of children's books, including one of my all-time favourites, The Hungry Caterpillar. It's amazing how a book can evoke so many memories and feelings. I can still vividly recall numerous books from my childhood that literally transported me into the world they created. It's the compulsion to capture that feeling, to create a world and characters that readers will become lost in, that drives me to write.

What makes a good book?

I've just finished reading The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger. It's probably the best novel I've read in a long time, and I can't believe I've only just discovered it. Poignant, beautifully written and structured, I didn't want to put it down, and at the same time, I wanted to prolong the experience of reading it.

This has led me think about the experience of reading. What makes a good book? What do we mean by 'good'? It is a complex question that I can't easily answer.

There have been novels I have breathlessly rushed through in order to find out what happened, so caught up in the intensity of the story that I felt I had little choice but to read on. Some of these were little more than compelling froth, but that didn't mean I didn't enjoy them at the time. Other novels I have read more slowly, content to pick them up and put them down, reading a little at a time and savouring the prose like a fine wine. Then there are old favourites, books that I will return to time and time again, old friends I am delighted to visit (Lord of the Rings and anything by Jane Austen come into this category).

It is amazing how some books, particularly those we have loved and read over and over as children affect us. One of my most vivid memories from my childhood is of reading The Chronicles of Narnia. It was just before my seventh birthday. The magic of that time has never left me. For at least a couple of years afterwards, I continued on my quest to find Narnia whenever we visited my grandmother's house. As a child, her house seemed huge, and there were several wardrobes filled with fur coats. I remember thinking that if I kept trying, sooner or later, I would get there.

Although I never reached Narnia, it did not stop me trying. However, before long, I discovered I could create my own worlds, vast countries that I could access any time I liked. I'm still doing it now.