Reading, Writing Blog Posts, and The Woman In Black

About a week ago….or two, I wrote the beginnings of a great post.  Then it was somehow eaten.  I don’t want to talk about that.  Painful.  Ultimately not life altering, just blog altering.  Then I left here and posted on my library's blog about a few books I have enjoyed lately, feel free to go and read that.  I feel like, given the time I could have done more justice to them, but time is a limited resource.  Also, it had been a frustrating day.  The last one, Princess of the Midnight Ball is one that I was working on here.
 

I am learning that it is better when I write in Word at home, then copy paste when I want to post.  Just add images and links, which should not be as hard as it was that day.  (I guess I just talked about it)

I have talked before, I think, about how I don’t write about books that I wasn’t crazy about mostly because I have so little time to read that I tend not to waste my reading time on books that are less than attention grabbing.  Maybe someday I’ll have unlimited reading time, and I’ll finally read some things that I’ve always thought I ‘should’ read.  For now, I read for enjoyment and escape from the day-to-day drudgeries.  I love to be swept away and pulled into the wonders of another place.  When I read, I often have to slow myself down.  I can read quickly, but why?  I would rather savor a good book.  Like a good meal, I want to take the time to taste the words on my tongue, feel the sunshine (or cool mist, or leafy shade) of that other time and place on my skin.  I want to immerse myself in the lives of the characters, feel what they feel, cry when they cry and laugh when they laugh.  When I read I ‘read out loud in my head’.  My own inner narrator.  I love to hear a story well read, even if it is my own voice.  I don’t know if that makes any sense to anyone else, but I don’t know any other way to explain what it is my crazy brain does with the words my eyes read.  

I just this morning finished Susan Hill's The Woman In Black.  I must admit to being a bit haunted by this story. For some reason, even though I knew little about it, I felt like I needed to read it pretty much the first time I saw the trailer for the film.  Though by modern horror movie standards this book is really pretty tame, it is entirely plausible, perhaps making it that much creepier.  When all is revealed, finally, it is a very sad tale.  Very sad.  No happy endings here.  Even now the story clings like a mist, making me want to stand in some sunshine.  I am interested to see the film, though I know from the trailers and sneak peeks that they have changed and added to make it more screen worthy.  The majority of the book is written as the recollection of an older Arthur Kipps (the main character), an angle that could've been done quite well on film though I have seen no evidence that they have done this.