In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved, and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

—John McCrae

Sometimes I want to chow down on a sack of Cheese Puffs…

…but that doesn’t mean they have nutritional value (Part 1)

I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that I was a bad feminist for pointing out that chick lit treats women like they’re stupid. (Bookslut)

Women’s studies, my ass (Maud Newton)

On the one hand, I respect a person’s right to write and read fluff. It sells. People enjoy reading it. Cool. I used to read Judith Krantz. What of it?

But on the other hand, the implication that it’s anything more than what it is bugs. It might be an entertaining story, a good yarn, as they used to say. But it’s not literature. Literature isn’t obsessed with shoes.

I was having a hard time getting started on my NaNo and I remembered a book I read earlier this year (The Rules of Engagement by Catherine Bush). I thought reading a page or two might inspire me because, as I recalled, it had a style/tone similar to what I was trying to achieve. Anyhow, one of the back cover review quotes says, in part: “As any fine novel should, it raises more questions than it answers…”

Yes.

A literary work is contemplative. The writer thinks about things, which means the narrator/protagonist thinks about things, which in turn makes the reader think about things. It’s a dialogue, a conversation, because it requires the reader to actively work to fill in what the writer has left unsaid. Because of this, two people who read the same book might be left with very different impressions of what it means.

A fluffy book doesn’t require thinking. In fact, thinking too much spoils the effect of the fluffy book, because it usually exposes inconsistencies or flaws in the narrative. With a fluffy book, the writer tells the reader a story. There is no ambiguity as to what it is about. It’s meant to be entertaining, fun, “an escape,” just like a summer movie or a cheesy soap.

Not-thinking is the entire point of fluffy books! Thus, it’s oxymoronic to claim that they are substantial works that actually make a statement about something.

To be continued…

Actual Content

So I’ve made my word count so far, but it’s taking more hours that I planned. I’m hoping it’ll speed up once I get more into the story.

Anyhow. During my daily blog-reading (read: procrastination), I ran across this:

[Japanese author Haruki] Murakami believes the first step toward successful writing is proper physical fitness.

“First train your body. Then, your writing style will follow,” the author said, is a mantra by which he lives. Murakami has run the Boston Marathon six times and will run his 34th marathon this weekend.

“I realized that I needed physical strength [to focus on writing for long periods] and that strength helped to develop my writing style,” he said.

I’d like to believe that.

Went for a run last night. When I started, it was just drizzling, but it picked up just after I reached my turn-around point. And then–whoosh–it was sheeting down. The light was crazy with headlights bouncing off all that water. My shoes felt all spongey. Squish, squish, crunch through the leaves. And my (bright yellow reflective) jacket plastered itself to me. Was all good, though. I’d warmed up by that time, and it wasn’t cold, just wet. Plus I felt really energetic right from the beginning. I think part of it is the abrupt change from running in the daylight to running in the dark. It’s a different experience. Makes me feel all dedicated and stuff. 😉

I love November.