So… today began the beginning of the craziness. (If that makes sense. I'm not entirely sure it's one hundred percent grammatically correct, but I refuse to change it. Ha!)
What do I mean by the craziness? The fair, of course.
Technically, it doesn't begin till tomorrow morning (Saturday, that is...which, technically, as it's 1:01a.m. here, it already is Saturday), but today, all the animals had to be brought to the fairgrounds, and I was the lucky winner of official Hired Help position. Except, you know, that I wasn't hired (alas, no recompense was or will be made for my time and efforts ), and there wasn't a contest so much as my mom going, "You're coming with us." So I helped her and my sister haul the first load of animals (yes, I do mean there was more than one load--three, I think, if you count the mini-load of a couple pairs of chickens) and animal supplies. Rabbits and ducks and chickens and sheep and goats! Woo-hoo. (There are times I wonder how I managed to be born into the family I was born into…not that I don't love it, and don't want it—my family's the bestest in the whole wide world! —but, yeah, the whole animal-loving gene skipped me completely… and it's beyond my comprehension as to why they like doing this to themselves—and, invariably, me—but I guess it's from my dad's side, not my mom's. Dad's not so much into the animals, though I think he likes them—some of them, anyway, like dogs or whatever—more than he'd ever admit. Okay, this was a very long run-on parenthetical paragraph-part.)
Anywho. I just read a blog entry by Shannon Hale (she's an author, if you didn't know, who writes YA fantasy—I'm not a huge huge fan of her writing style, but I've liked the books I've read by her). I don't know if this is against CF rules (I hope not, 'cuz I don't like breaking rules, unless they're really stupid rules, and even then I feel slightly guilty about it), but I'm going to post a link to it. (If I'm not allowed, forget it's there. Pretend it's invisible, instead of just itsy-bitsy. Or that it’s not real, but merely the product of my sleep-deprived, aching-leg*, sweaty** person and a way too vivid imagination.)
http://oinks.squeetus.com/2008/08/how-to-be-a-rea.html
Basically, for a rundown, it's about reading, and how it's partly the reader's fault for his/her reaction to a book they read. It mentions Breaking Dawn, which has suffered a lot of ridiculously strong reviews—most of which I've seen were negative, which always struck me as a little…I don't know, over-the-top. If you don't like a book, fine. Whatever. There are a lot of books I don't like, or don't like very much, or which have parts about them that I don't like. (In fact, very rare is it that I read a book that I completely, entirely, totally, 100% adore every single word, page, chapter, character, plot line, etc. In fact I'm not certain I could say, honestly, that I've read any book that I could say that about.) But does that mean you should trash it and trash those who do like it?
I'm a rather…impressionable person, I have to admit. I am swayed far too easily by others, because I care far too much about what other people think of me. I'm not proud of this fact, and I try to, erm, defeat it? (Sorry, my brain isn't working to its full potential right now...I blame it on the late hour, of course.) Anyway, the point of this confession has to do with the prior paragraph. So I'll get on with it instead of rambling like a…loquacious duck. 
(There's a simile I never thought I'd use…I think I’ve been in Ginny’s*** head too much lately.)
See, I read Breaking Dawn, like so many others, and there were some things about it that…confused me, to say the least. My first impression of the beginning was along the lines of, "This is really weird; I'm not sure I like this." I finished the book, and though overall I liked it quite a bit, that impression of it being strange didn't exactly fade.
But then I made the mistake of reading reviews about it. And of course I read a bunch talking about how wretched the book was and how the author should be strung up by her toenails and slung from a catapult—okay, so I don’t think anyone actually said that (I seriously hope not, anyway), but you get the idea—and of course it influences my own opinion, and I start wondering if the book was as good as I thought it was. Which is just ridiculous, because different people have different tastes, so what’s good to one person can be good to another. But because of the general air of the bad reviews—e.g. I’m too smart to like such rubbish like that, anyone with half a brain knows it stinks—it also made me question my intelligence in liking it. Which is even more ridiculous. I don’t consider myself a genius by any means, but I’m not stupid. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be because I liked a book that smart people didn’t like. Or vice versa (there are plenty of “smart people” books that I don’t like, believe you me).
And, most importantly, I don’t want to think what everyone else (or at least, what sometimes seems like everybody else) thinks—especially just because they think it. I want to think what I think. And I don’t want to feel embarrassed or ashamed about it (unless, of course, what I’m thinking is morally wrong, a.k.a. sin, in which case, I hope I’m ashamed I’m thinking it).
Oy. This is more personal than I really wanted. And a little overdramatic, I think, especially over a simple book. But then again, that’s sort of the point. It’s just a book. And, back to the blog entry which this tirade originated from, I just thought it was interesting, and thought-provoking. (For the record, it’s not about Breaking Dawn—Shannon Hale merely mentions it as an example for the actual subject of the post.)
*Ehh…can you say walking around fairgrounds for a good three hours, maybe closer to four (I didn’t exactly time it)?
**While it’s been fairly cool today (thank You, Lord, for not-so-small blessings), it’s also been drizzly, and thus, humid. Ick.
*** The protagonist in the series I’ve been working on. Let’s just say she has a silly sense of humor.
What do I mean by the craziness? The fair, of course.
Technically, it doesn't begin till tomorrow morning (Saturday, that is...which, technically, as it's 1:01a.m. here, it already is Saturday), but today, all the animals had to be brought to the fairgrounds, and I was the lucky winner of official Hired Help position. Except, you know, that I wasn't hired (alas, no recompense was or will be made for my time and efforts ), and there wasn't a contest so much as my mom going, "You're coming with us." So I helped her and my sister haul the first load of animals (yes, I do mean there was more than one load--three, I think, if you count the mini-load of a couple pairs of chickens) and animal supplies. Rabbits and ducks and chickens and sheep and goats! Woo-hoo. (There are times I wonder how I managed to be born into the family I was born into…not that I don't love it, and don't want it—my family's the bestest in the whole wide world! —but, yeah, the whole animal-loving gene skipped me completely… and it's beyond my comprehension as to why they like doing this to themselves—and, invariably, me—but I guess it's from my dad's side, not my mom's. Dad's not so much into the animals, though I think he likes them—some of them, anyway, like dogs or whatever—more than he'd ever admit. Okay, this was a very long run-on parenthetical paragraph-part.)Anywho. I just read a blog entry by Shannon Hale (she's an author, if you didn't know, who writes YA fantasy—I'm not a huge huge fan of her writing style, but I've liked the books I've read by her). I don't know if this is against CF rules (I hope not, 'cuz I don't like breaking rules, unless they're really stupid rules, and even then I feel slightly guilty about it), but I'm going to post a link to it. (If I'm not allowed, forget it's there. Pretend it's invisible, instead of just itsy-bitsy. Or that it’s not real, but merely the product of my sleep-deprived, aching-leg*, sweaty** person and a way too vivid imagination.)
http://oinks.squeetus.com/2008/08/how-to-be-a-rea.html
Basically, for a rundown, it's about reading, and how it's partly the reader's fault for his/her reaction to a book they read. It mentions Breaking Dawn, which has suffered a lot of ridiculously strong reviews—most of which I've seen were negative, which always struck me as a little…I don't know, over-the-top. If you don't like a book, fine. Whatever. There are a lot of books I don't like, or don't like very much, or which have parts about them that I don't like. (In fact, very rare is it that I read a book that I completely, entirely, totally, 100% adore every single word, page, chapter, character, plot line, etc. In fact I'm not certain I could say, honestly, that I've read any book that I could say that about.) But does that mean you should trash it and trash those who do like it?
I'm a rather…impressionable person, I have to admit. I am swayed far too easily by others, because I care far too much about what other people think of me. I'm not proud of this fact, and I try to, erm, defeat it? (Sorry, my brain isn't working to its full potential right now...I blame it on the late hour, of course.
) Anyway, the point of this confession has to do with the prior paragraph. So I'll get on with it instead of rambling like a…loquacious duck. (There's a simile I never thought I'd use…I think I’ve been in Ginny’s*** head too much lately.)See, I read Breaking Dawn, like so many others, and there were some things about it that…confused me, to say the least. My first impression of the beginning was along the lines of, "This is really weird; I'm not sure I like this." I finished the book, and though overall I liked it quite a bit, that impression of it being strange didn't exactly fade.
But then I made the mistake of reading reviews about it. And of course I read a bunch talking about how wretched the book was and how the author should be strung up by her toenails and slung from a catapult—okay, so I don’t think anyone actually said that (I seriously hope not, anyway), but you get the idea—and of course it influences my own opinion, and I start wondering if the book was as good as I thought it was. Which is just ridiculous, because different people have different tastes, so what’s good to one person can be good to another. But because of the general air of the bad reviews—e.g. I’m too smart to like such rubbish like that, anyone with half a brain knows it stinks—it also made me question my intelligence in liking it. Which is even more ridiculous. I don’t consider myself a genius by any means, but I’m not stupid. And even if I were, it wouldn’t be because I liked a book that smart people didn’t like. Or vice versa (there are plenty of “smart people” books that I don’t like, believe you me).
And, most importantly, I don’t want to think what everyone else (or at least, what sometimes seems like everybody else) thinks—especially just because they think it. I want to think what I think. And I don’t want to feel embarrassed or ashamed about it (unless, of course, what I’m thinking is morally wrong, a.k.a. sin, in which case, I hope I’m ashamed I’m thinking it).
Oy. This is more personal than I really wanted. And a little overdramatic, I think, especially over a simple book. But then again, that’s sort of the point. It’s just a book. And, back to the blog entry which this tirade originated from, I just thought it was interesting, and thought-provoking. (For the record, it’s not about Breaking Dawn—Shannon Hale merely mentions it as an example for the actual subject of the post.)
*Ehh…can you say walking around fairgrounds for a good three hours, maybe closer to four (I didn’t exactly time it)?
**While it’s been fairly cool today (thank You, Lord, for not-so-small blessings), it’s also been drizzly, and thus, humid. Ick.
*** The protagonist in the series I’ve been working on. Let’s just say she has a silly sense of humor.
