Monday, 21 April 2014

No Time for Elephants

  I was in a lecture the other day where the lecturer was discussing Nero and his attempt to pull his chariot through Rome with a couple of elephants. This was obviously over-the-top extravagance. The Roman people didn't seem to appreciate it. It also didn't work because the elephants were too big.
  Sometimes it's like that with books. Where there is a really good story. You know the ones I mean, the stay-up-all-night-reading ones, the get-up-early-and-keep-reading ones. And you think it was a one of a kind excellent stand alone. But wait, what's this advertised in the back? Another book, a second one? Brilliant right? Can't even contain yourself excited.
  And so you wait. You bide your time. And there it is, in your hand ready for the reading.


 But this one wasn't so good. In fact, it changed your opinion on a lot of the characters and the plot. It stank. But you, loyal reader that you are, continue reading it to the end in hopes that it will pick up soon. It doesn't.

  Not only that but you've noticed in the back that the author or publisher has decided to make it into a 8-piece series. And that's it. A perfect book ruined.

  Sometimes I wonder about books that would have been better left as a stand alone, or a series that would have been better as a trilogy. (Yes I'm talking about the Mortal Instruments here-Though I am of course reading the last one when I get my hands on it). Sometimes I think it's best just to leave things when their on a high. That's easier said then done, I'll always continue with something if it's there to be continued with. Not only in books, but also in movies-Disney's particularly bad for adding awful sequels, and yet, I will watch them. Why? I do it to myself, I know. I know the temptation to run back to something you loved, but as it is, there is no time for elephants.

Monday, 14 April 2014

Emotional Replacements

  Recently I had an excuse to buy the new special edition Harry Potter books. It was my birthday and they finally arrived. They are beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous. I literally tore the box open and looked at them for ages. And while I admired them and stared my little sister asked if she could have my old set. She's 18.
  Nope.
  I'm sorry.
  But regardless of the fact that my old set is missing all the dust jackets, pages are torn and taped back in, the covers are bent and damaged and the pages have all yellowed. I am sentimentally attached to these books. They have come with me in school bags, and on holidays, they helped me through sick days and have been re-read more times than any other fiction I own.
  They are not just books that I love, they are a safe haven and a world that I escape to when this one is simply too complicated.
  I love my old set. I love the new set. I can't wait for them to become mine, and by that I mean to re-read them.
  Both sets have pride of place on my favourites fantasy shelf, both there to be displayed and read. Mine.
 

Monday, 7 April 2014

Leading Lady

  I've been thinking over time why I write.
  Is it that that's how I express myself?
  Is it to tell a story?
  Is it to feel connected in some way to others?

  Why does anyone write?
  Why bother to tell a story? Preach a moral? Give a warning like old fairytales? Give comfort? Give hope?

  But if this is the case, would I say the same things to people in real life? Would I care if they needed hope? If they needed comfort? I'd like to think that I would. But maybe I wouldn't.

  Maybe writing is a place where I can do the things I want to do, before reality stops me. Sometimes I wonder if I'm a strong enough lead for my story.
  If I found the rabbit hole,
 If I found a wardrobe that lead to Narnia,
If Hagrid showed up and said 'Your a witch Emma.'
  Would I go? Would I drop everything and leave?
  Maybe.
  Probably not.
  At least not now.
  Thats probably why I write that I would.