I am developing an undesirable knack for feeling elated three seconds before the reason for my happiness disintegrates into nothingness. It seems to me that every time I sit back to admire my good work achieved against the proverbial all odds, only just slightly out of sight another part of my life falls spectacularly to pieces. And before Christmas too. I ask you, is this normal? Yes, I am sure it is.
So I spent the weekend pretty much retired to my bed, reading. When I feel not right, which has happened quite a lot as of late, I take refuge in those books that have saved me before. I looked at my diary, which I had already resolved to throw away before January turns up, and I re-read that bit in The Creative License where Danny says that he realised that the purpose of his journal was to blunt his pains, not reflect them. I re-read a bit of Fearless Creating, where Eric Maisel talks of the completion of your work and of critical-mind anxiety, of appropriate and inappropriate judging and of detaching yourself from what you've completed. I'll tell you what, if there is one thing I've got absolutely zero problems doing is detaching myself from what I write. In fact, I am reaching the stage of not caring any longer, which really isn't what Eric Maisel talks about at all.
Then I read Dazed & Aroused which I absolutely had to get out of the way, I continued through In The Falling Snow (gazing amorously at his dedication from time to time) and Evil Under The Sun. Have I ever told you that I am absolutely crazy about Agatha Christie? She is my dirty secret (not so secret now and not as dirty as my passion for Jamie Oliver). I know that many readers find her plots far-fetched and oddly contrived but I must say that this stupefies me; why do we watch Back to the Future, Blade, Mission:Impossible, Johnny English then? Why is it so hard to suspend disbelief for Agatha Christie but so easy to do so when Ethan Hunt shoots through the air like a rocket, swinging from skyscraper to skyscraper, sliding to almost certain death while taking down twenty guards with a pocket pistol and some dental floss? You should read Murder On The Orient Express and maybe that'll change your mind. It's entirely magnificent: they have all done it.
I also started reading Kitchen which is probably going to lose me another few readers. I do not understand why so many people cannot stand Nigella. She sells millions of books, doesn't she? Why cannot I find one other person as crazy about her work as I am? What's wrong with people? Last week I was in the kitchen at work and upon my gushing about her, I was met by a multitude of rolled eyes. Still, you should have heard the gasps and shrills when the conversation moved to Jamie whom I deemed 'absolutely entirely more desirable in every which way than George Clooney'. What I don't understand is why this isn't obvious to more people.
You'll have to let me know if there is a cheesecake recipe in any of your cookery books - my one went from bad to worse at the weekend. Now it's in the bin and my fridge smells of strawberries.
Posted by: Jessica P | 22 November 2010 at 20:30