July 17, 2010
Not something most people do these days. A professor friend of mine requires her students to fill out a questionnaire at the beginning of each term. She asks them to write down something about themselves other people don’t know. One student answered—big secret, don’t tell anyone—, “I read books.”
So do I, except when I’m knee-deep in one of my own projects. It’s amazing how quickly other people’s bad habits can filter down into my work. So I stick to magazines and newspapers or subjects very far away from whatever I’m trying to do.
Since I’m between books, though, I’ve been reading quite a bit. Here’s a sampler:
I recently took a chance on One Day by David Nicholls, the British sometime-actor, screenwriter, and novelist. It got great reviews. Since it centers on a romantic relationship and is in the same territory as Blind Love, the book I just completed, I wanted to see what the fuss was all about.
I barely made it to the end, which made up for everything that came before. With a nod to Thomas Hardy, Nicholls brings the narrative full circle to the very beginning of Dexter and Emma’s story. I closed my Kindle and tucked what he had done into a far corner of my brain for future use.
I guess that’s why Agassi is a gazillionaire and I’m…an underpaid writer.