How Studying English Literature Temporarily Ruined My (reading) Life

I've always been an avid reader. I'd rip through books at lightening speed, devouring any I got my hands on. Each Saturday I'd get a stack out from the library, and most of the would be finished by dinner. A Baby-Sitters Club or Sweet Valley book would take me 25 minutes to read. Longer chapter books might take an hour. When Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix came out in 2003 (aka seventh form), weighing in at a whopping 766 pages, I got my hands on it as soon as possible then lay on my bed reading for eight and a half hours. I didn't get up until I finished it. Whatever I was reading, it was easy to slip away into a fictional world and forget about mundane realities. Characters became best friends, and their world became my world. Oh, how I wished I could be the tenth member of the BSC!

I'm a horrible skim reader, though. Or at least I was then. I like to think I'm a bit better now. But back in the day I'd skip over most descriptive passages (especially if they were long!) - I just wanted the action and the dialogue. And I wanted to get to the end of the book as soon as possible, in one sitting, so that I always had a complete picture of a book in my head. 

It came as no surprise to anybody when I began studying English Literature at university. It was a natural fit. However, it did mean I had to change the way I read. No more skipping the (sometimes) vital descriptions! Stopping at the end of chapters to analyse things! (Stopping at the end of chapters to go to class ... ) Thinking critically about themes, character, and vocabulary! Constantly looking out for quotes that were going to come in handy in the inevitable essay or exam! 

I spent seven years at uni. Three years for my degree, another year for honours, a year writing a proposal for my MA, then two years writing, submitting, and finalising my MA. After studying for so long I found that I was picking up on authors' tricks and clues, even when they were the types that are supposed to remain hidden in the background out of the reader's way. The types of things that - if you know them - can spoil a surprise ending for you, or reveal a plot point before it's supposed to be revealed. 

Case in point: Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks are my favourite characters in Harry Potter. They were the ones I was most concerned about staying alive as I anticipated and then began to read Deathly Hallows. Things were looking good for the first chapter or so. He's a fierce and intelligent werewolf, right, and she was trained as an auror by Mad-Eye Moody so she knew her stuff. They should have been fine. Then, however, Remus turns up at Grimauld Place all angsty and annoying and announces that Tonks is pregnant. 'Huh?' was my first thought. It quickly turned into 'oh, COME ON JKR, really? I know where this is going ... you're going to kill them off so you can draw some nice, tidy literary parallels between little orphan Harry and another little orphan. Couldn't you have done it with Bill and Fleur instead? I don't care for them. Dammit!' When the end of the book came round I was both smug and sad to see that I was right. 

These sort of 'rules' or tropes that exist aren't bad things. You need a certain amount of them for a story to work, but knowing them does take away from the reading experience. 

I didn't read much of anything once I'd finished my MA. I'm not entirely sure why, maybe it felt too much like work. Apparently it's not an uncommon experience though! It was about six months until I read a book, and a year until I read fiction again. I finished my MA in September 2010, and it wasn't until this month that I had a reading experience like I used to have before my study. The kind where I'm completely lost in the fictional world, where putting the book down ispainful, and when I'm be reading while walking to the bus stop. There is one slight difference, and that's that I haven't sat down to read it all in one go. I'm taking my time with it - perhaps I'm combining my 'professional' and 'leisurely' methods of reading, perhaps I just have less time to read. 

The book is Nevada by Josh Porter. Josh plays in the band Showbread, so he's not primarily a writer or concerned with following writerly rules. I'm reading this book, and I have no clue what's about to happen next. I'm not catching things when they happen, but when they're revealed. Something will happen, and I'll suddenly understand the meaning of something that happened 50 pages earlier. 

I'm really enjoying engaging with a book in this way again! I think this is the way writers intend readers to read. I find myself having to think about plot points, becoming confused, and having multiple theories about what's going to happen next. I'm about 20 pages away from the end of the book, and I'm still completely unsure about how it will end. Reading like this is so enjoyable that I'm putting off reading the last few pages - I want to have more to look forward to! (Lucky for me, there's a sequel.) 

The downside to engaging so completely with a book is getting attached to the characters. Actually, let me amend that. The downside to engaging so completely with a book like this one, a weird and wonderful mix of horror, sci-fi, theology, and what almost seems like apocalyptic literature, is getting attached to characters. Because so many of them are killed off. I'm really attached to this one character, Paul, whose story is told through journal entries. He's described as showing 'mild retardation' and has an IQ of 68. He carries Oscar the ferret (his best friend of six years) everywhere with him, and is very trusting and sweet. He has moved me close to tears many times, and I did cave in a recent chapter when things began looking awful for the poor man:

they say they going to draw and corner me and I dont no what that meens but i think it meens kill me so im reel scard and maybe this my last time to rite in my jurnul ... if you read this last jurnul then i hope peepel will try to love other peepel instead of hurt them and that peepel will try to do what other peepel want first and treet them better than themself. i think that is the best way to be. love, Paul.  

Joshua S. Porter (2009). Nevada. p. 293-294.

(An aside - I am so wrapped up in the story of this book that I've only now realised that Paul is a biblical name, and this is a theological novel. The mind boggles even more ... whatever will happen next? He sure doesn't seem like biblical Paul.)

I need to find more books like these. In addition to the sequel Josh has another stand alone book, but they won't sustain me for long. Any recommendations?

SWF, 25, seeks engaging and surprising literature that doesn't follow the rules. Can anyone set me up? Leave a comment below or email belwrites@gmail.com.

When You Can't Post Words, Post Pictures

So my top secret novel is coming along nicely! We convened at our gang headquarters (better known as the public library - we are bad-ass) yesterday and I got a chapter and a half written, and semi-sort-of know where I'm going with my plot.

I also found the name generator in Scrivener, so I can stop wasting (as much) time finding names for characters. 

I wrote a little bit tonight then got distracted dreaming about my stories turning into actual books, so I played around with PicMonkey to make a cover for my current baby. This'll have to do for a post since I can't share any of my actual writing yet (competition rules!):

Madcap Writers (are mad and, uh, cappy)

So I joined a gang last week. Nothing too hard core. A writing gang. It's official now cos we each have these awesome post-it notes that are shaped like typewriters. And we're on a mission. 

Madcap number one emailed us on Thursday about a writing competition he was going to enter. Scratch that, that we're all going to enter! 

Minimum of 25,000 words. A complete story/novel/book. For children or young adults. I think those are the specs anyway, we've hit the ground running so fast that I haven't really checked. It's gotta be submitted by the beginning of June, see. In Australia. And you can't email it. So I figure we have five weeks. 

Which, hey, is more time than NaNoWriMo which I've done and won twice now. It even gives me an extra week. Which will be needed for editing. 

Is trying to do this all in five weeks madness? Completely. But hey, why not? It'll be fun, and I'll end up with another manuscript, regardless of whether anything actually comes of it. And it's good practice. And there has been mention of coffee. And did I mention the awesome post-it notes?

Apparently anything you submit to the competition can't be published anywhere else, so blog pickings may be slim for a few weeks. But in the spirit of speed-writing, here's an example of what happens when I write at a breakneck speed. 

(Don't judge it too harshly. It's still a zero draft, and has not been touched at all since it was written during NaNo '11, most likely during a series of word sprints.)

"Maxwell!"

I opened one eye sleepily. My alarm clock told me it was already half past eight. And it's a school day. Crap.

"You're already late for school, if you don't hurry up you're going to be even later!"

"I know, I'm coming!"

When I came downstairs ten minutes later, Mum was waiting for me in the doorway, hands on hips. "Honestly, Max, this is the third time this week."

"I'd like mornings a whole lot better if they started later," I grumbled. If Mum heard me, she didn't show it. She merely shoved my backpack into my arms, and pointed to the front door.

"School! Go! Now!"

"I'm going, I'm going." I don't now why it matters, I'm only going to miss Form Time. Nothing important.

Twenty minutes later I arrived at school, and debated whether I should just go to class right away, or if I should go and get my late slip from the office like we're supposed to. I had English, with Ms Tyler, so the decision was pretty easy.

"I need a late slip", I told the woman in the office.

"Again, Mr Walden?" she asked, peering down her pointed nose at me. Crap. She knew my name. This couldn't be good. She continued, "You are aware that school begins at quarter to eight, are you not?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then why have you turned up after nine o'clock three times this week?"

"Well, you know, it's difficult turning up on time when you have to travel to get here." I smiled, in what I hoped was a charming way.

She grumbled, turning her attention towards the computer. The keys tapped loudly and slowly, then the printer started whining.

"Yes, Mr Walden, I imagine it must be very difficult to get to school on time when you live a short walk away. What happened? Snowed in? Car wouldn't start?"

Blooming administrators, thinking they have some sort of power. Wanna-be teachers, I reckon, though who'd want to do that either.

"Look, can I go to class? I'd hate to miss anything ... important." Ms Tyler always took half the lesson to get to anything important. The rest of the time was spent playing stupid games and trying to "develop us as people" or some rubbish. Nothing that was going to help any of us pass the class.

She harrumphed. "Here you are then. Do try to make it to school on time tomorrow, won't you."

"Sure thing, whatever you say." I flashed my teeth at her before I left, and wandered down the hallways to my English class. The thing about Ms Tyler's class is you can hear it before you get there. I was still four doors away when I heard her screeching.

"No, no, no, class! Back to your seats, back to your seats, you're doing it wrong!" Geeze, what was going on in there? And did I really want to find out? I considered heading off down the field, but then decided I didn't really want a detention, and kept walking towards the class. A ball of paper hit me square in the face as I opened the door.

"That's IT, Jason! Yellow slip! Now! Go!"

"I can't go, Ms Tyler. You have to give me an actual yellow slip if you want to yellow slip me."

"Out!" she hollared, and Jason shrugged as he gathered his things. He grinned at me as he squeezed past, probably going to go off down the field and smoke.

"Nice of you to join us, Max."

"I have a late slip, Ms Tyler", I said as I handed it to her.

She grabbed it "Take your seat". I did, gladly.

"Late again, mate?" Ian asked.

"Yup, like everyone keeps reminding me. I figure I haven't missed much though."

"You've missed absolutely nothing", Lauren interjected, as Lauren usually does. Butting in to conversations that don't concern her. "You know Ms Tyler ... I think we still have ten minutes before we're going to do anything useful." She and Ian laughed. Cassidy looked like she wanted to laugh, but pursed her lips instead. I don't think she approves of being rude to teachers, even if they can't hear it.

"There are those times we do nothing useful at all all period", Ian mused. "I think today might be one of those days."

"How can you tell?" Lauren asked.

"Ms Tyler's got that look in her eye."

"Ms Tyler always has a look in her eye."

"Yeah, but this one is a very particular one. Her pupils glint sort of, as if she thinks she's going to change the world. I bet you. Ten bucks. We're not going to do anything remotely related to the English curriculum today. We're going to do something to get to know each other, or talk about our feelings, or improve ourselves. I bet you."

"You're on." I figured it was too far into the year for her to do absolutely nothing English-y for the entire lesson.

Ian grinned. "Sweet, I'll be getting my lunch from the canteen today."

"Keep dreaming."

"She's got to do something, surely." Strangely, when Lauren agrees with me it only makes me want to disagree with her. Which, unfortunately, doesn't work. I can't disagree with myself, after all.

Ian left class laughing, as he pocketed a ten dollar note. My wallet, meanwhile, was somewhat lighter. "Yeah yeah, okay, you won. We all lose in the end when we fail English because Ms Tyler didn't teach us anything."

"That's ages away. Right now, I'm a winner."

"She really should have taught us something, though." Lauren was struggling to keep up with us.

"Lauren. We may be forced to work and sit together in English, but class is over now. You can leave us alone."

"But we're all going to the same place. Science."

"Well, you could go a different way."

"There IS only one way to get to Science."

"You don't need to talk to us, or walk with us though." She stopped walking, and we continued on.

"I don't know why you're so mean to her," Ian remarked. "She's nice enough."

"Yeah, I know you get on with her."

He shrugged. "She's fun. Not too serious."

"How do you know? You only see her in English."

"And in Geography, and PE. Classes you don't take."

"Oo-ooh!" I squealed, shoving him. "Geography and PE. Do you love her, then?"

"Bugger off, she's just okay to hang out with. Doesn't talk too much."

"She talks all the freaking time."

"But not about serious stuff. You know. Like most girls do. They want to be deep and meaningful all the time. Or they don't talk at all. Like Cassidy," he added as an afterthought.

"She talks. You just have to prompt her a little bit."

"It's like pulling teeth."

"Only because you have no patience."

"And you're Mr Sensitive, then."

I sighed dramatically. "Oh, Ian. It's because your family is full of men. You're socially undeveloped."

"Mum's not a man", he objected.

"Yeah, but she's your mum."

"Oh so you have learnt all your social skills from your sister?'

"I've learnt that you have to be more careful talking to girls than you are, if that's something."

'It's not much of anything, which I guess makes it a small something."