I've been noticing a few things lately. I've been reflecting (what else is new?) and I was thinking about how I'm reading stuff now that I never had an interest in before. I also thought about how my interests are so different than when I was eighteen or nineteen and even more different than when I was even younger. All in all I've got to say that it seems like it's all been a really fucked up process. I mean, how the hell does that shit change so much? Am I changed so much from that time? Well, let's analyze some things and check it out.
So as far as reading goes I started out reading a very specific book series that is actually a pretty easy read. You guessed it: It's the Anne Bishop books. But holy shit, they're amazing in their own way. I remember when it was described to me: "Yeah, the main character is Daemon and he's the son of Saetan, and then Lucivar is his brother and they're killing people left, right, and centre." I have to admit, it seemed pretty fucked up to me at the time but I think that's what drew me to the series in the first place. So sure enough, I started reading it and it was actually really fun to read and I found I loved the world that she managed to create and the three main characters that live in it. They're all so pure and they definitely don't fuck around. So fast forward a bit and now I've got a crapload of the books - all but one, actually.
Then I tried another series and it was just too brutal for me to get started. I didn't have the patience to read something more complicated. So I tried a different one and found it to be more manageable despite the slow start (more on this one later). I ended up reading the Night Angel trilogy by Brent Weeks and found it very compelling in ways. Overall, it was a nice story and there was a main character death in the middle of the series that really gave the whole story credibility. Just goes to show, it's not real unless someone dies. So I read that series too.
So I was thinking, "Great. Finished that. Now what the fuck do I read?" And that's when I found a sweet deal on a book at Christmas. It was Kushiel's Mercy by Jacqueline Carey. I already had one Carey book and I found it slow in the hundred pages I had already read. Naturally I had my reservations. However, the price was too good so I got the fucking thing as a Christmas gift to myself. And holy shit, what a good decision. It was the last book in the series but everything had already been established and it hit the ground running. Needless to say, I got hooked. After that one I read the first one in the series again. Fucking right. Now I love that series to death. There are so many things I love about it that I could never do it justice by explaining in this brief blog post. The fourth book in that series, though...Wow, what a fucking awesome book in my opinion.
Then I read a bunch of other shit. That was pretty good too. You know, trying to diversify and all that.
Currently, I'm back at a new Brent Weeks book and I've got to say that it's kind of pissing me off. Like, seriously. He goes and he explains shit. There's an island. There's a port. The land itself never means anything to the characters. It's like they're walking through a white room for the whole fucking book so far. Only when something is actually relevant to the story does it serve a purpose in description as land, or scenery, or whatever. But everything else? It doesn't fucking matter. It's like there's no point to it all. We could be in a desert, we could be in a rain forest, it's like with him IT'S THE SAME FUCKING THING. Really? Really, Brent? I understand fully that no one wants mundane details about buildings and stuff. I get that, I really do. But you can describe shit without going all Tolkien on our asses. You don't have to shove the description down our throat like a long marital aid. Just give the things some relevance. On the bright side, though, he's created a pretty original world with some really cool concepts and the characters don't seem that bland, so I do applaud him in that regard.
So that's the crux of the matter. Clearly my reading tastes have evolved. I can go back and read an author I've read before and find something that just pisses me off to no end. Now, all this shit was a lead-in to my other point, which is more general. If my reading tastes have changed, then who's to say that my taste in other shit hasn't changed too?
I think there's a lot of evidence for this: I'm now doing business and I started out in science, I'm actually reading quite a bit more than I used to and get real enjoyment out of it, I still write and probably just as badly (note I'm not even trying in this post), but I seem more commited to actually following through on the stuff I start writing.
As a person I think I've grown as well. Is growing the right word? I don't know. I'm different, I know that. I find I'm not as naive as I once was and, as a result, I'm not nearly as trusting either. I don't think my any means people are out to fuck me over but I am a lot more wary of the motives of people and what I show them about myself. That might explain a lot to a few of you out there who might have just gotten a big clue to something they've been wondering about.
I guess I don't know if it's growth and it doesn't matter anyway. It's a change. God knows I'm going to keep changing. It's going to be quite interesting to see where I end up next and in what context. Is my path going to continue linearly or will it meander? I'm not sure but I plan to have some fucking fun on the way.
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