Quote of the day

"Your memory is a monster; you forget - it doesn't. It simply files everything away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you - and summons them to your recall with will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you."

John Irwing, A Prayer for Owen Meany

Twitter, authors and other things linked to writing

I noticed an interesting thing about my using twitter. On facebook I'll follow (or "like") bands or artists, but on twitter I'm already making a habit out of following my favourite authors. A surprising amount of authors have twitter accounts, not only the youngest, and tend to write much more interesting tweets than most of us.

Speaking of such, I just re-read Atwood's Moral Disorder for the n:t time. It is obviously just one of those books I can return to time and time again, finding new aspects with every reading. I also, pathetic as it may sound, found myself missing some of the characters after I had finished it. So I felt like doing another All-time-favourite post.

Today, I've been trying to finish an essay for the Academic English course, on the subject of adoptive rights of (or for) same-sex couples. The essay doesn't need to be long, and the subject has been interesting to work with, but now I'm just stuck. As I mentioned earlier, one downside of the English course is that I now ten to over-focus on how I write, no less knowing that my writing will be marked and graded. This, of course, slows me down even more (than the procrastination is already doing). And the deadline is tomorrow night. I hate when this happens. (It does, most times.)

Back to the Women's Room

I've been re-reading some favourite books this winter. So far it's been quite rewarding. Right now I've returned to Marilyn French's The Women's Room. This is a book I read the first time back in highschool, not remembering if I ever actually finished it back then, just how I tried to force myself through it. A couple of years later (after I had left home and went to a public college) I found a torn copy of the book on a flea market and brought it home for an amasing re-read -- in just a couple of years I had learned [things that made me] appreciate it much more. I still remember how I tried to get everyone else to read it... Since then I've returned to the Women's Room (pun not intended) quite irregularly but more than a couple of times, and every new read of it has given me something new. There will be details forgotten or things you simply need to have gone through certain things to understand -- I guess this is typical for any novel written in the form of someones lifestory, and I expect myself to react this way again of course. Normally, it would make me happy to find that I can still relate to an old favorite book and get something out of reading it, but in this case it just makes me more upset. Or rather, there are more things in it to make me upset since there are more things I can relate to. So it's actually a much harder read today than it used to be, but I'm still just as unable to put the damned book down as I was the last time I read it. I should seriously not read it in bed at night, though. Grrr...