Jovial

I finished that teen fiction novel that I had to read as an introduction to next term's assessment.  After spending a day watching chic-flicks with two of my best friends until my head pulsated, my eyes ached and I was desperate to fall asleep, I miraculously managed to stay up reading for another three hours after that.  And then this morning, I finished off the last few chapters and had it over and done with.  



I am unashamed to admit that I didn't mind it, really.  It's not at all the sort of book I would read of my own accord, but it had its merits - a sort of kooky teen 'wit' - and left me with an understanding of the subject matter that I had previously not possessed.   I suppose it was like watching a really sappy teen flick that you feel guilty watching but secretly enjoy.  Overall, it was an interesting experience. 

I am currently involved in the task of editing a novel I threw together several years ago.  It's been very fascinating observing in my writing the development and maturing of my style, word choice, phrasing, interests...  etcetera etcetera.  I often find myself editing out the word 'jovial'.  I profess that I failed completely and utterly to use it, even once, in a way that it actually sounded right, sensible, normal, logical... take your pick.  There's something about it that just doesn't fit in to my sentences.  Sorry 'jovial'. 

Funnily enough, I can't remember ever using that word since, which is probably a good thing.  But the strange thing is, that in comparison to my old writing style, which embraced lots of varying words and phrases, the style in which I write now lacks proper 'style' I suppose you could say.  It's like I use only the words that are presently appearing in my head without attempting to rope in new words.  It's like I hardly think about it.  I am so out of practice, and blogging doesn't really give me any practice in creative writing... like story writing.  I tried to write a short sort of stumbling along story earlier this week and I liked some of the little thoughts that went into it, but overall, it ended with a big, soggy flat sploosh like dropping a pancake on a concrete floor.  I had no where to take it, really.  So I let it just end.  And it shouldn't have ended there.  Storylines are not my forte.  And you can take all the cliched hints from 'learn to write fantastically' and 'create believable characters' and 'write a bestseller' type websites, but in the end, either the hints are too obvious to even contemplate, or it becomes a matter of being bothered.  Uuugh.  It's quite sad.  I think that when I am my own thing, I will invest in a hour a day of writing at least, to properly get it.