Echoes in a Hollow Space

I've always got several books going at once. Generally, one (maybe two) fiction books, and a trail of nonfiction. Some nonfiction I read for the pure pleasure of it—so no note-taking is required. Those books I can usually work my way through in a decent amount of time. But not always. I'm a flibbertigibbet, I guess. Mind. Makes. Many. Jumps.

Most of the nonfiction books I read, though, are working for their supper: I'm doing research for something I'm writing, or something I'm doing, or something I'm in the process of becoming. In those cases, I have to stop several times a page and jot things down. I still jot things down rather than key them directly into the laptop because otherwise (I've learned through painful experience) the note-taking gets totally out of hand. If I have to write it out, I'm much more circumspect and concise. Still, it's not uncommon for me to wind up with forty or fifty pages of notes for a 400-500 page book. In my own defense, some of those notes also include story ideas that the book has generated, or other kinds of ideas generated, and yes, I will admit it, the occasional snarky comment. Example:

p. 45 - Dreams of headless horsemen riding through pumpkin patches are not uncommon.
     [a good story here: a headless horseman who replaces his head with a Jack o'Lantern]*
     [though perhaps my dreams of pumpkin-headed men have more meaning than I thought: what is the deeper significance of pumpkin-headedness?]
     [pumpkin-headed horseman reminds me a lot of X's last boyfriend]

Go ahead, laugh. I laugh at myself all the time.

And if I'm honest, a great deal of these notes are just hyperactive, nervous energy note-taking. Still, the act of writing things down has always made ideas penetrate deeper into my unconscious. Years later when I need to refresh my memory about what I learned while reading these books they're invaluable. Much easier to read forty pages of notes than to reread a 400 page book, and sometimes I don't get around to actually using this stuff in my writing for a long, long time.

I've read a great deal of nonfiction this month. That kind of month. I've been working my way alternately through The Philosopher's Secret Fire by Patrick Harpur (for general interest, research, and enlightenment all three—though I have some problems with it. But that's another post.); Meeting with the Other Crowd by Eddie Lenihan (mostly research, but a fun read nonetheless); Women Who Run With the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes (enlightenment, mostly, but it's generating a hell of a lot of story ideas and deeper insights into characters, so ftw all the way around); and Secrets of the Flesh: A Life of Colette by Judith Thurman (just because I'm interested and Colette had an amazing life).

I didn't get through much fiction this month. Nor did I finish any of that nonfiction. I finished one book then started reading Dragonfly in Amber by Diana Gabaldon. Dudes, I read over 400 pages and still wasn't halfway through, so it's gone on hiatus for awhile. Good, but I needed a rest.

( Here are October's grim totals for those with a grim fascination. )

*Yeah, I know this has been done before. It's a seasonal hypothetical, dude.

Note to self:  Do not mumble to yourself, "This woman is a train wreck" when the woman in question has come out of her office and is following you down the hall.

Note to self:  Generally, it's not a good idea to mumble to yourself when in public at all.  Unless you're wearing one of those headset things.

Note to self:  Yeah, but you've got that talking out loud to yourself disease real bad.  You even answer yourself.  Maybe you could get a prop headset and walk around with it on all the time.

Note to self:  At least it isn't summer and you don't have all the windows in the apartment open so everyone can hear you talking to yourself as they walk by.

Note to self:  Maybe it's time to print up that sign you've been threatening to hang on your door:  "I'm not crazy, I'm just a writer."

Note to self:  You can't blame all that talking to yourself on practicing dialogue runs.

Note to self:  But they don't know that.  They'll just think you're being creative.

Note to self:  Yeah, right.

Note to self:  Back to the woman who's a train wreck.  Just pretend you were rehearsing a dialogue run. 

Note to self:  Yeah, because most people at work know you're a writer.

Note to self:  And most of them know you're crazy, too.

Note to self:  Point well taken.