Today, being out shopping (for food, not pleasure, alas), I passed a book store and I of course succumbed. Some people buy shoes; some people can’t pass a novelty shop without buying some little cuddly toy; but me, I guess it’s books. It used to be comics more than books, but books are better value for money these days, and comics don’t have many Jack Kirbys out there anymore. (*sigh* I might get nostalgic.)
It was a close one. This store had several copies of Stephen King’s Cycle of the Werewolf, with wonderful illustrations by Bernie Wrightson. I wanted this so much when I heard about it maybe 17 years ago, but amazingly, I have never seen it for sale anywhere. I didn’t even know it was still in print. Anyway, that’s earmarked for purchase v.v. soon. I passed it today.
For some three pounds less, I ultimately went for Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors. It’s a collection of his short stories. Those who know me real well also know I’ve got pretty serious doubts about Gaiman’s comics—I never doubted the craft involved, okay, but it just ultimately seemed to be a lot of something about nothing to my mind. However, picking up his American Gods novel a couple of months ago, I was impressed. Some of the prose was (surprisingly) a little clunky, but who cares? I enjoyed it a lot. So working on the idea that I like Gaiman the Prosist better than Gaiman the Comic Man, I picked up this collection.
Tomorrow (well, later today), I might do some work on this damned novel of my own again. In On Writing, Stephen King recommends sitting down and working up 1,000 words a day. Not hard to do in theory—when I actually sit down and bother writing, I almost never do less than that—but when apathy rears its head…
I am awaiting some feedback on a couple of extracts from said novel from a couple of people who offered to take a look. Which is a nice thing, although if they think it sucks (and I desire honest opinions either way), I’ll be looking for a new idea! (Believe it or not, the idea I’m working with was conceived in original form just about ten years ago now. I’m getting old.)
I’m wondering if I can persuade mom to see the new Harry Potter at the cinema. I want to see it, and either way, I guess I’ll check it out soon. Okay, ask: what do I like about Harry Potter? I’m not really sure. I guess the characters just had a charm that worked for me. It’s not the stories—no awards for innovation or shock value there. The characters work really well. That’s it, I think. Nothing profound or meaningful. And I like stuff that can work for both children and adults, without patronising the former or being utterly cretinous or saccharin-coated.
I was incredibly sad to hear of Richard Harris’s death a while back. I feared the worst months earlier, when the film makers were speaking of replacing him due to him being ill with ‘pneumonia’ (obviously an extreme reaction to someone having pneumonia). A very great actor. And no, I’m not going to get into all this business of who’ll be the new Dumbledore.
I’ve droned on enough for now…