I've been having trouble picking up novels recently. I've been reading lots of non-fic, but, though I have several appealing novels waiting to be read, every time I reach out, I find myself pulling my hand back and saying, "I just can't."
It was puzzling me. At first I thought it was Harry Potter/Twilight hangover. Had reading about 8 very easy-to-read books in a row spoiled me for trying anything not quite so easy to digest? Plausible, but then why was I still devouring things like "Swords Around a Throne: Napoleon's Grand Armee"?
But today I figured it out. It was my own book that was taking up all my headspace. Bujold said that while you're in the middle of writing a novel, it feels like you're constantly using your active memory to carry around enough information to fill a phone book.
I don't want to dive into Liad or Shrewsbury or even (heaven forbid!) someone else's version of Regency London when my mind is every minute filled with the thoughts and emotions of my hero and heroine, puzzling at their dilemmas and feeling their fears and delights. Until I get the whole story down and out of active RAM, I'm not sure how easy it's going to be to give any of my imaginative headspace up for any other protagonists.
Which kind of sucks. Or it would, if I didn't find Thomas and Eve's story so compelling. I am writing exactly the sort of story that I love to read. (Action, adventure, true love!) It's the best sort of interactive narrative, where I at once get to watch what happens and make it up.
But when this is over, when it is all, all over (and I'm about 25,000 words into what I think will be a 75,000 word story), I am going to go seek out some old friends, and spend a week or two with Miles Vorkosigan, Peter and Harriet, Val Con and Miri, and maybe even Brother Cadfael. I miss them.
peace of Christ to you,
Jessica Snell
2 comments:
I'll tell Peter and Harriet hello for you.
My daughter sounds so much like you!
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