Two books that messed me up…
…in very different ways.
The Poisonwood Bible by Barbara Kingsolver. I am way behind on this one, since I first heard about this book when it was in Oprah’s Book Club in 1999. My friend Sarah talked me into reading it when I was visiting her in North Carolina last month, and I found a copy for $1 at McKay’s.
It’s about a Southern Baptist preacher who takes his wife and four daughters to be missionaries in the Congo in the 1950s, and I absolutely loved the first 350 pages, but it fell off a cliff for me after that. Explaining why would probably mean dropping some spoilers, but I’ll vaguely say that the parts I loved were story-driven, and then for me, it felt like the author veered into using her beautifully constructed characters to deliver her own political manifesto.
Funny Story by Emily Henry. I will not apologise for my level of superfandom. I read an interview with her at Vulture that perfectly summed up the journey I’ve been on with romcoms (excuse the length, I just loved this whole thing):
Love is embarrassing. Every aspect of it requires maximum humiliation. And while it’s human nature to love, to want love, it’s mortifying to be caught in the act of it: putting yourself out there for it, asking for it. It is embarrassing to receive it, to open yourself up to it. Love is like a high-school bully, poking at tender spots, forcing a response, reducing us to — what? Softies! Simps! People who want to gaze and smile and sigh and melt. Who feel a spark and sit with it long enough to let it catch fire. Who luxuriate in silences and sexual tension. Who exchange little kisses, not just in dark bars but on the street, in the grocery store, in front of their friends. Who hold hands. Who nickname. Who interlace fingers and stroke hair and make up excuses to brush their person’s eyebrow because they like to touch their person’s eyebrow, but that’s so weird, haha. It’s all so cringey! To call someone “your person.” To be caught singing a little song because you’re in love. Or doing a little dance … together? Oh my God. Touching knees? Biting lips? Having your special li’l nook under their arm? Tearing up over gestures both grand and mundane? Oh my God, please, wow, nope, don’t look at me. Romance? Is there a witness-protection program for little bitches? Sign me up.
“But that’s the joy of romance,” exclaims Henry. “Dating is humiliating. Sex is funny and embarrassing. I think there’s so much beauty in having a genre that’s like, You’re going on the most vulnerable journey a human can go on with a fake person. You’re going to imagine what it’s like to fall in love.”
It’s all so cringey! But as previously discussed, I’m here for the entirety of the human experience, and so much of the humiliation and cringe but also euphoria of the human experience exists in romance. Sign me up.
When I finished Funny Story, I immediately started re-reading Henry’s first novel, Beach Read…I’m just chasing that feeling.
Adult things
Not that kind of adult thing, you dirty dog. We got a skip (that’s a dumpster, for you Americans), because we were having a huge clearout, and I haven’t been that excited about anything for a while.
Writing like it’s my job.
(Because, well, it is.)
This website I wrote with my friends at Offhand Studio recently went live and it’s so beautiful.
I also just wrapped up messaging for a new bar + arcade in North Carolina with another of my agency partners. I jumped at the chance to do this project because most of my recent work has been in the wellbeing/travel/beauty space, and this felt like a good stretch. I loved it, the client loved it, can’t wait to show it to you.
Annnnd, I’ve been absolutely flying through my own novel-writing lately. In some ways, I think my acceptance of my own romantic leanings has helped. I’m just not very cool, guys.
I’m planning to join Jami Attenberg’s 1000 Words of Summer again starting Saturday, but tbh I’ve already been writing 1000+ words most days recently. I’m hoping to get the first draft finished this summer.
Listening to:
Speaking of my novel, I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a playlist for my two main characters, and I listen to it sometimes when I’m writing, or just on a walk untangling plot points. My current favourite songs on there right now are this one…
…and this one:
That gooey romantic part of me quite often thinks in video montages, sees life in scenes set against moving music, and I can see full things I’ve written or am working toward unfolding with these songs playing in the background.
Keeping (some) things close to my chest.
So far, no one has read a word of my novel. This isn’t like me. I have no chill. When I write a good sentence, I want someone to know. When I write anything, I want someone to know, because LOOK AT ME! I am STICKING WITH SOMETHING. I have DISCIPLINE! I like stringing words together in pretty ways! These words are making me FEEL THINGS!
But my friend Allie, who is an incredible writer with an MFA from Oxford, was like, “Keep this first draft close to your chest. Don’t be influenced by anyone else. Write what’s in you, and then you can decide whose advice you want later.” Or something wise like that.
So I’ve been doing it that way, and honestly, it was really good advice. The only critic I have in my ear right now is me, and she’s enough for the moment. Plus, I really feel like by the time I show this to anyone else, I’ll have a strong enough relationship with these characters and this story to know what’s right or wrong for them - I’ll love them enough to stand up for them if I need to.
Okay, finally, bringing it back to what Into It is usually about, which is what I’m - you know - INTO:
I’m running again.
I feel that the word “running” may be misleading. Walking would probably be just as fast, or faster. And yes, I suppose that I am moving my body in a way that approximates what it looks like when a person “runs”, albeit in slow-mo. But the point is, once a week currently, in addition to the other ways I enjoy moving, I’m going for a slow run.
Simon comes with me. He’s an excellent runner and in the best shape of his life, so on my “run” days, he has already done an hour-long strength-training session and my “run” is his cool-down, which I try not to find offensive. But he “runs” very slowly with me, and we do intervals, really, and he does all the timing and all the talking while I breathe very loudly, but last Sunday I shaved 3 minutes off my original time from 4 weeks ago on our 4k route, so not too bad, right?
Ok, that’s all for this slightly manic, two-cups of coffee (can you tell?) edition of Into It. I feel pretty confident you guys are becoming more clear on how painfully uncool I am. Hoping you find it as endearing as I do(?) when a person just likes what they like.
xx
Faith
Geez, not to be your stalky commenter but I really vibe with your stuff! .... I was going through my closet and all the half marathon tshirts that don't fit me anymore and bemoaning how fit I was ten years ago.... how does ten years go by so quickly?! Love that you're running again, I need to take walking more seriously!