Ramblings of a mad woman (literary edition)

[witchpoetdreamer]

The other day, while trying (and failing) to fall asleep, I decided to scroll through my kobo's overdrive looking for a book that would soothe me to sleep while not being too tempting to keep reading until dawn. I... think I found one...?

The book is Practice by Rosalind Brown. It's... strange? But also incredibly relatable? It's the story of a woman working last minute on her essay on Shakespeare (hence the relatable), but it's told in the most minute details. I know exactly how the narrator's pee feels when trickling down her labia kind of detail. Someone online compared it to Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway, and I can see that in a way (I haven't read the full review yet because I went into this novel knowing nothing about it and I would like to keep it that way).

I haven't finished the book yet. Partly because I've been able to sleep the nights after and didn't have much time to read during the day, partly because, well, if I'm honest, I have both expectations and apprehensions for where the book is going to go now. And it's something I want to work on pulling out of my head. I want to relearn to let someone tell me a story exactly how they want to tell it rather than go in with the knowledge I possess from both decades of reading and years of deep analysis of literature at uni. If anything, as much as reading has once been a comfort zone, to learn to let go of those expectations is completely out of it. To read a book and consume it with my mind a blank slate feels foreign to me now. When expectations come from the first volume of a series, it's a little bit different. I have had a taste of the author's writing style and the general direction they seem to be aiming for. But when expectations come from just the first few pages I've read, it feels... the only word that comes to mind right now is "terrifying". How strange, to feel anxious about whether or not a story will live up to what I want it to be in my mind. What gear in my brain went askew? And was it always like that or is it something that happened later on during my studies (because that's also when I've been at my worst, mental health-wise).

Is it the topic of the book? That weird balance between "I relate", "I miss it" and "I'm so glad it's over?" Is it the writing? Something I compare my own to, knowing there is space for my bizarre storytelling out there, the one that I don't really share, that I most often do not write, because who would like to read that? It's not the first book this happens with though. Regardless of topic and writing technique, I've DNFed books halfway through that I knew I might like but was scared to see how it would fully unfold. I've DNFed books I've almost finished for the same reason.

There is something about books that is both what I love most and what scares me most both at the same time. And I don't know what is at the junction of both. Love and hate, I can certainly understand. Love and fear, there is nothing to fear from the stories I read themselves. What am I afraid to discover within myself if I finish the books? It's the same kind of fear that holds onto me when I'm thinking of writing. So it must all be related one way or another. What I read and what I write, sisters looking down on me, not in judgement but as two goddesses disappointed in the quality of my worship. I can see them clearly in my mind's eyes. I would draw them if I could (I just might).

There certainly is a pedestal. I do not see them as my equal. I do not see them seeing me as an equal either. How catholic. Something has to give though, for me to find comfort in worship once again. And that something has to be me.

The only way forward is through.

(I would give a therapist a field day...)

Comments

[wpadmirer]

Wow. I read this, and I'm trying to digest it. (That's the word that came to mind when I was trying to figure out how to explain my reaction.)

I think that would be awful.

I read a lot, and right now I'm actually actively writing a lot, so I'm all over the place with story - and I'm loving it.

I finished a Simon Green book over the weekend, and it ended in a way I completely didn't expect, and I was absolutely charmed. I love that.

[witchpoetdreamer]

It does feel awful most of the time, except on those rare times when everything feels easy. I do have hope that one day I'll be able to be charmed by unexpected endings again.

[liriaen]

There is something like „knowing too much“, for sure. Especially if you’re doing something professionally, there’s a set of routines one employs, a useful skillset in most cases, but also the very thing that disables genuine amazement. I experience that with music, music I’m supposed to work with… it’s not necessarily being „jaded“ (for lack of a better word) but unconsciously employing a kind of pattern recognition. It sometimes takes a concerted effort to try and approach things with „beginner’s mind“. And yet - sometimes I’m just glad that very skillset saves me from wading through oodles of dross.

[witchpoetdreamer]

Yes, that's how it feels like most often! And it does help to immediately dismiss what I know will be bad, but also, sometimes the bad can entertain in ways that are not that easy to predict.

Thank you for reading!