Book club tonight. Always makes me feel a bit inadequate because I feel the group expects me to be able to say something more intelligent about the books than them because I'm a 'writer', and I can't. Writers don't always make the best readers - sometimes I get too interested in the techniques used to take one step back and see the larger themes but I'm amazed at the quality of the discussion - and yes, we DO talk about the books! Inadequacy is even worse tonight because I've just found out I've been reading the wrong book - Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford, when it should have been Love in a Cold Climate. Mind you, they're probably both so similar that I'm wondering if I can get away with it!
Been speaking to students recently about this writing/reading thing. Some of them claim that they've stopped enjoying books because they're getting held up with the style. I've certainly less patience than I used to have with books. There are several recently that I've just stopped reading, but with others - the joy. I'm not reading I'm living it. The latest of these is The Curious Incident of the Dog at Nightime. It was stunning and why it wasn't on the Booker shortlist, I can't imagine.
A bit of a strange day - have been able to write all day which is good, but I've had to spend hours on my teenage hero's wetdream. Not the most pleasant place to be.
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