The Angel’s Game – Just, Wow.

This morning, as I sipped my tea and curled up under a soft blanket on what has to be one of the comfiest couches known to man, I finished another masterpiece by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

The first book that I’d ever read of his was The Shadow of the Wind. I fell madly in love with Zafon’s prose even as a teenager and I urged  anyone who would listen to read it. Zafon has such a poetic way with language that I can only dream about possessing.

This time, I read The Shadow of the Wind‘s predecessor, The Angel’s Game. Another book about an author writing a book, gee I wonder why I relate so much…

Anyways, The Angel’s Game took so many twists and turns that I honestly had no idea where I was headed, which in my opinion is the best kind of writing because it mimics how life unfolds.

This novel is dark, unfathomably dark both in visualization and emotion. Zafon tears at your heart strings while strumming a low frightful tune on them simultaneously. The characters whom my heart went out to were destroyed, those I disdained blackened me, those that I was unclear on never stopped surprising me… I had trouble putting it down.

There was a moment where I was ready to slap Zafon, however. It appeared that he was going to go with the “it’s all in your own head/schizophrenic” route and I was ready to scream… such an amazing novel, so beautifully articulated and put together and he was going to pull a Chuck Palahniuk?! But, then Zafon came through and made it all this own and I sighed one of the biggest sighs of relief. 

This novel is amazing, as is all the work I’ve read by Zafon. If you haven’t already picked his work up, do it.

There was one quote that literally brought me to tears. The main character, David is describing books to his assistant, Isabella as a farewell.

Every book has a soul, the soul of the person who wrote it and the soul of those who read it and dream about it.”

That hit home for me, because it’s something that I’ve always believed but never been able to articulate. I suppose I am just like Senor Sempere in the novel, I live for the souls of books.

Do read Carlos Ruiz Zafon. There will be no regrets. So, keep reading dearest reader.


Where’s your head at?

The din of sweet silence, how does it clear the air, make it crisp and serene? It’s not all quiet here, while the room is filled with nothing but breath, I have a million sounds screaming from all sides. In here, in my mind, there’s nothing but chaos and distraction. Where’s this peace of mind that I’ve heard so much about? Where does this sense of ease come in when all I feel is calamity and activity?

Think, think.
Think, think, think.

When will it settle? When will I finally enjoy that sweet spell of turbulent free existence?

It’s all a mess, this head of mine. I need a shovel and three trucks just to move half of what pops in every few seconds.

But what then, when the chaos has been set to an organized jumble of what goes on, what emotions linger, what I truly believe? What then?

How do you make sense of it all? Our minds can create, achieve, understand, panic, disturb, love, and so on. What will I end with? Is there anything to gain from this jumble of words, imagines, ideas, and emotions?

Clarity, now there’s a foreign concept. Everything, everything all at once, that’s how it works. All or nothing, there’s no other way I know. Life either passes me by or pours everything, good, bad, ugly, beautiful, exciting, frightening, all of it on me.

I never have answers, only more questions. Every answer I look for brings me just more complex questions. How do you answer questions with more questions? How to you settle on an idea, theory, concept, reality when all you have to go on is what might be due to speculation, due to your own line of questioning with little reasoning?

When do the questions stop? If they do, I fear it will be my end. I always wonder, I always analyze, I always interpret, but still I have no answers.

Shhhh, try to find the quiet, the clarity, the peace. Is it peace of mind or a piece of mind? Either seems remarkably possible. I suppose that’s just one more thing to ruminate on.

Some Wayward Thoughts

Unfortunately, NaNoWriMo was not a success. Although, it was my first attempt during a month that just got a little bit too crazy so I feel like I get a pass on this one. There’s always next time!

I haven’t been writing much lately, my life has been all sorts of surprises, excitements, disappointments, heart aches, and warm fuzzies this past few weeks. I need to find some time to hammer out some chapters, I’m thinking a library hunker-down is in order this week.

Updates? The insanity that’s hit me full force? Well, as I was getting heavily into planning my wanderlust experiences a new force came into my life, subtly then all at once. Needless to say it’s taking up a lot of my time, which I am more than willing to give. For lack of a better name, since for some reason it’s incredibly hard for me to come up with one, we’ll just call him Flynn Rider. Just insert all those cliches you know I’m thinking and you’ll understand what’s going on there with Flynn Rider. It’s one of those insane things that you don’t ever think actually exist.

Apart from this lovely and whimsical development, I’ve been dealing with a hurricane of tangled negativity. The brash speed with which this hit was unbelievable and frankly, nearly unbearable.  I’m still recovering from the emotional beating.

I’ve had excessive amounts of emotional changes from both ends of the spectrum hit me all at once. It’s something that has caused my mind to be a little bit scattered and blind-sided to say the least. But, all these things I experience are something I need both to grow as a person and a writer. What is good literature without experience? It’s just not good.

I’m hoping that this week I’ll be working on some scene setting exercises, which I will share with you. Just little excerpts to set a mood, tone, etc. I feel like I’m a little out of practice with the poetic-type prose. I haven’t written any of my bleak, post-modern short stories and I feel as if I may be over due.

My thoughts seem to be scattering to the winds yet again, dancing away with the dust.

Well, keep reading, dear reader and do love the skin you’re in, it’s the only one you get.