I read somewhere once that one of the reasons books are so great is that one can pick them up a second time and feel how you did, or remember where you were the first time you picked it up and opened it. I stand by this idea as to one of the reasons I love reading so much.
I am perusing the wonderful words of Ali Smith's The Accidental for my level 1 module 'Introduction to Narrative' and whilst this module is all very technical (and trust me, I do love that!) I am really enjoying reading a novel where the characterisation leaves a bitter sweet taste in my mouth and when I close my eyes all I can see is Amber; how she looks, how she dresses, how she smells... I love that. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of one novel and suddenly there is this person inside of my head and I can't get her out.
Not so long ago I read R. J. Anderson's Nomad (the second in the Swift series) and I was brought back to why I adore fantasy so much. I felt like I wanted to fly, and do magic, and explore and write. Most of all, write. When I was fifteen years old I had the pleasure of meeting Rebecca and prior to that I had engulfed her books with ferocity. I think it took 200 pages of reading Knife for me to decide that this was the sort of story, the sort of world I wanted to imagine and to write. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of one novel and feel so inspired and have such a strong desire to put something inside of my head into my own words, to let those words out.
When I was about thirteen years old I found solace in Cathy Cassidy's Gingersnaps and upon meeting her last summer I took the pleasure of telling her how that book was a net for me. From the get-go Ginger was there; I could see, hear, sense her - I knew how she felt, I knew her story and her feelings and that tale was ridiculously vivid in my mind. Even thinking on it now I get the taste of blue lemonade and the smell of autumn on my tongue and it makes me smile because that book hugs me. The memories it gave me and the comfort it provided me then allow me to look back on a not-so-great-time and have a sweet taste in my mouth and I love that. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of this one special novel and suddenly there is this friend inside of my head and I can't get her out.
On my travels, in this world and others, I meet so many people. Sometimes the taste in my mouth or the scene behind my lids that trumps the reality dished to me by other means and I love that I have that.
I am perusing the wonderful words of Ali Smith's The Accidental for my level 1 module 'Introduction to Narrative' and whilst this module is all very technical (and trust me, I do love that!) I am really enjoying reading a novel where the characterisation leaves a bitter sweet taste in my mouth and when I close my eyes all I can see is Amber; how she looks, how she dresses, how she smells... I love that. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of one novel and suddenly there is this person inside of my head and I can't get her out.
Not so long ago I read R. J. Anderson's Nomad (the second in the Swift series) and I was brought back to why I adore fantasy so much. I felt like I wanted to fly, and do magic, and explore and write. Most of all, write. When I was fifteen years old I had the pleasure of meeting Rebecca and prior to that I had engulfed her books with ferocity. I think it took 200 pages of reading Knife for me to decide that this was the sort of story, the sort of world I wanted to imagine and to write. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of one novel and feel so inspired and have such a strong desire to put something inside of my head into my own words, to let those words out.
When I was about thirteen years old I found solace in Cathy Cassidy's Gingersnaps and upon meeting her last summer I took the pleasure of telling her how that book was a net for me. From the get-go Ginger was there; I could see, hear, sense her - I knew how she felt, I knew her story and her feelings and that tale was ridiculously vivid in my mind. Even thinking on it now I get the taste of blue lemonade and the smell of autumn on my tongue and it makes me smile because that book hugs me. The memories it gave me and the comfort it provided me then allow me to look back on a not-so-great-time and have a sweet taste in my mouth and I love that. I love that I can read 200 pages or so of this one special novel and suddenly there is this friend inside of my head and I can't get her out.
On my travels, in this world and others, I meet so many people. Sometimes the taste in my mouth or the scene behind my lids that trumps the reality dished to me by other means and I love that I have that.
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