Hello again. Miss me?
Why have I started up again? No reason. I still don't feel I can write about books as eloquently as film.
Because if I don't write down how I feel when I feel it, then I'll forget.
Because my sister's blog on the same subject has impressed me so much. Go and see it HERE if you want lucid, well written reviews. Stay here if you want random and hastily dashed off comments. All the better, read both. But if you read one, read hers - its better written, and the sting of it is she's younger - so she's still got two years to catch up with my current book count!
Because my "1001 books spreadsheet", recommended to me by a kind commenter during my absence of a year, informs me I'll only reach the end if I read 15 books a year.
Because the only way to write well is to read well written stuff, even if this does mean I spend hours agonising over paragraphs because they don't come out as good as McEwan's.
And finally, because I just came into a large number of Doctor Who novels. Lolita was immediately dumped mid paragraph for the Eight Doctors - the sci-fi equivalent of the airport novel. They are what Victor Frankenstein's father would describe as "sad trash", but oh-so irresistable. Maybe this blog will help keep me on the straight and narrow? Some of the time...
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