I have some books that will always stick with me. Watchmen, Catch-22, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Lord of the Rings to name a few. For the rest of my life, I’ll probably always make references to these books. The other day, and I forget what we were talking about, I finally truly understood the significance of Sydney’s famous final thoughts: “It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.”
One could, and probably has, written a whole dissertation about those words. The more I think about it, the more I think I should’ve been an English major. Going through and analyzing books that I actually enjoy isn’t boring to me, it’s interesting and fun. Call me a nerd, but I whole-heartedly admit to it.
In fact, today during lunch I was mulling to myself the fact that I actually miss reading a book for school and then writing a paper about it! I was thinking that every time I finish a book from now on, I’m going to write about it. It’s such a good practice, one that I wish I had continued to do. So I think I shall from now on, I mean why not. If it’ll help me process a book better, why not?
I then thought, as I’m prone to do, about why – especially since I was such an avid reader as a kid – I didn’t go the English route. And I think it all stems from sophomore year of high school when I was in over my head in Honors English. I think I suffered from being told all my life that I was go at English, and that went to my head. The typical millennial egotism, as TIME would likely say. And they and all the researchers are probably right, all my life I had been told I was good at writing, and then I got to sophomore Honors English and floundered when I actually had to work to prove it.
But that’s all in the past, it’s time to get my love of reading and books back. My appreciation for the written word has dwindled over the years, if my lack of posting over the years is any indication. But also my ability to write well has suffered. I can’t find the same voice that I had back when I truly loved to write. I’m wordy, and ramble on too much when I write. I don’t write coherently anymore.
I think it’s about time I stop letting sophomore English hang over my head, and I start letting my writing actually flourish. Maybe it’ll reignite my passion for writing. The first step, however, is to actually finish a book – which I haven’t in a few months. First up, Cloud Atlas, if only I could get through the stupid “Sloosha’s Crossin’” chapter.