Far More Seemly Were It For Thee to Have Thy Study Full of Books, Than Thy Purse Full of Money*

I am supposed to be job-hunting right now, but I can’t bring myself to do it for one reason: I would rather write something. I have the blog post that is unfurling before your eyes in mind and I’m working on a short story. Yep, that’s right—I’m finally working on my story. I’m currently at nearly 1,500 words done over the course of two days. It is awful and stinks and will need heavy revision and editing, but I am writing it. I haven’t been this overjoyed with writing in, like, forever. And then I start thinking, given my progress over the course of the past two days, that staying here wouldn’t be so bad because the job is relatively undemanding and does afford me the time I need to write (and keeps my finances in good book-buying condition). But let’s see how that changes the next time someone pisses me off to the point where I’m sputtering about leaving.

I am also trying to find books on the topic that I’m researching for the nascent novel idea floating around in my head. I plan to buy them used because I don’t expect to be blown away by them (because, as prevalent and interesting as this topic seems to be, no one seems to have written anything hugely notable on it). Perhaps I’m wrong—perhaps I’m going to find a stunning, unrecognized diamond-in-the-rough that makes me doubt my writing abilities. But I’ll still write it. I promise you. Most importantly, I promise myself.

I’ve finished my first book of 2010, too: I recently joined a book club and the first selection was something I got through in the course of two days. I won’t review it right away because I don’t want to give away anything that could identify me, but I was rather disappointed with the selection and fervently hope I can somehow influence future selections. The book was a fairly easy read—the author can write, no doubt, and there were times I found myself charmed, but for the most part I felt the method used to convey the story was weak and a bit lazy. I don’t feel an inclination to savage it, but I can’t ignore the real weaknesses. I hope that this group I’m joining can accept criticism as opposed to taking an Oprah approach to it (i.e., this book has no flaws unless you’re Jonathan Franzen or James Frey and you piss off Oprah Winfrey).

I love letting my inner critic loose and pointing out the strengths and flaws in any book, but I must admit I feel some trepidation about coming on too strongly for this group. I don’t want to be perceived as Queen English Major Bitch at my first meeting, you know? There are many things I could say about this book that were done right, but there are many more things that were done wrong. I’m trying to think of a way to point them out without insulting the person who chose the book or having the rest of the membership think I’m a literary snob. I don’t consider myself a literary snob by any means (I’ll truly give any book a try unless I’ve read the author before and I was horrified), but I know I come across as one in real life and on this blog. I love discussing books (IP will attest to that), and I love, love finding contradictions, underlying themes, connections to other works, hints at history, etc. I am mad for words and love that people can do so many things with them. But there are times when I am stunned into disbelief by how a particular combination of words can develop into a story that utterly dismays (or even disgusts) me.

I’m working with some bad preconceived notions, here: I’ve never been a part of a book club, but the tales I’ve heard make me think that book clubs tend not to argue or discuss books like you would in, say, a University of Michigan English classroom. I picture them as more lovey-dovey and focusing more on the strengths and making light of the weaknesses.  I also see them as bringing the author too much into the story, and y’all know how I feel about the intentional fallacy. And I admit I could be completely wrong: when we meet, the club might array itself into different factions that argue for or against the book’s merits. I could be entering a lively and fierce society that cackles at the thought of ripping apart even a good book in order to get down to its roots. I fervently hope that this is the case.

That said, I welcome the opportunity to read at least 12 books this year, and to expand my knowledge as a reader and writer by doing so. I firmly believe that reading informs your writing, be it to steer you in the right direction or make you aware of your own flaws when writing. I hope that I’m also stumbling across a diverse group of women who look at words as something to deconstruct and examine instead of fully trusting that they’re just conveying one meaning (and accept that meaning as truth). I hope that they can help me see words in a new light, and that I can contribute a bit to their own development as readers (and maybe even writers?).

All in all, I’m excited, even if I fear coming off like a literary snob and/or buffoon.

*John Lyly, a writer who I studied in Toronto and just never seems to get enough credit.