Most people have a stream of consciousness. A river of thoughts that run constantly through their heads. I have ponds of consciousness.
I think in short, sharp bursts. I write in short, sharp busts. I have an ongoing love affair with full stops. That’s why books like Mrs Dalloway and Silas Marner almost killed me, although I adore Virginia Woolfe (don’t get me started on George Elliott. Seriously, gold turning into a girl with golden hair? Gag).
So in my head I jump from pond to pond rather than floating down a river like most people, and I think that reflects in my writing. Unfortunately, some people don’t get that and they tell me that a sentence does not equate a paragraph. Screw you, if I want a sentence on its own it’s going to stay on its own. Impact, people!
Obviously Facebook and Twitter have taken my conciseness to new levels. And much to my delight others seem to be learning that you can say what you mean in 140 characters! Yes, the death of drivel! As I understand it, poetry is all about being concise and using the single most appropriate word to say the single most important thing. Perhaps Twitter makes poets of us all!
In other news, I have finished The Book Thief. Cried, cried, cried, and adored every tear. I thought I couldn’t read any new perspective on World War Two. I thought it had all been done. I was wrong. Please, please, if you listen to nothing else I say, read it.
I’ll share some favourite passages later. In the meantime, off to tweet with the philistines.