Sunday, 2 February 2014
January Book Haul
Books read in January
This was a difficult month for me. I didn't get many books read, only 10, 3 of which were graphic novels.
It being the middle of summer, we've had weeks where doing anything but lying comatose in front of the air con was unbearable, with temperatures exceeding 40 degrees (Celsius, for all you American readers. You have the polar vortex, and we have Summerpocalypse.). And at the same time, depression got in the way, making it difficult to want to pick up books, even if they're wonderful and make me feel good. I just felt so apathetic about it all.
But whatever, we're here to talk about books, aren't we?
It being the middle of summer, we've had weeks where doing anything but lying comatose in front of the air con was unbearable, with temperatures exceeding 40 degrees (Celsius, for all you American readers. You have the polar vortex, and we have Summerpocalypse.). And at the same time, depression got in the way, making it difficult to want to pick up books, even if they're wonderful and make me feel good. I just felt so apathetic about it all.
But whatever, we're here to talk about books, aren't we?
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Are Comics Real Books?
Ah, the great question. When I was in school, teachers would always tell off anyone who brought comics or graphic novels to silent reading time. "They're not books!" they would exclaim.
Aren't they?
They have words. They have a story, characters, conflict. They inflict a painful amount of feels at times. They discuss issues.
Is it that they have pictures that makes them not worthy of being called books?
To me, it seems snobby to claim that graphic novels don't count in literature.
Becky Cloonan has written a trilogy of sorts, The Ink and Thunder series, and each issue is a one-shot. They're carefully crafted, written, illustrated and inked by Becky herself. And I would call them literary-fantasy crossovers. There's a lot of hidden things in her work, imagery, symbolism, everything you'd find in a regular book.
I dare you to check them out. Each issue is only 99 cents on comixology.
So, what do you think about comics as books? Goodreads thankfully counts comics as books towards my yearly reading goal, since I've slowly started reading more comics than books lately.
Aren't they?
They have words. They have a story, characters, conflict. They inflict a painful amount of feels at times. They discuss issues.
Is it that they have pictures that makes them not worthy of being called books?
To me, it seems snobby to claim that graphic novels don't count in literature.
Becky Cloonan has written a trilogy of sorts, The Ink and Thunder series, and each issue is a one-shot. They're carefully crafted, written, illustrated and inked by Becky herself. And I would call them literary-fantasy crossovers. There's a lot of hidden things in her work, imagery, symbolism, everything you'd find in a regular book.
I dare you to check them out. Each issue is only 99 cents on comixology.
So, what do you think about comics as books? Goodreads thankfully counts comics as books towards my yearly reading goal, since I've slowly started reading more comics than books lately.
Tuesday, 10 December 2013
A quick post to let you know that I'm not dead, and what I've been obsessing with lately
Apologies for not posting in several months. Especially after that last post wherein I talked in verbatim about my depression. I hope no one thought I'd pulled an Allie Brosh (her several months-long hiatus on Hyperbole and a Half, with no warning, after her own post on depression was an extremely worrying time for me.)
But I've been getting better. I think. My feelings have been going up and down, as to be expected with mental illnesses. But I've been dealing with it. I've made a new friend in my course, who quickly turned into my best friend. And this best friend introduced me to superheroes.
Now, I've read some comics before. I'd read the first 100-something issues of Fables, before getting sick of the convoluted, meandering plot. Ditto with The Walking Dead. But I'd found it difficult to get into superhero comics, mainly because, well, I found the Batman universe uninteresting and too male-angsty for me (Oh, Chris Nolan, please tone down the angst), just to name one example, and the comic community is severely anti-woman, as I've encountered.
But after reading some comics that he forced onto me (I completely recommend Loeb's Hush, Tomasi's Batman and Robin run (up until Damian dies), Simone's Brids of Prey run, and Dini's Gotham City Sirens run), I've become so in love with the feels that the superheroes give me.
So, I've decided, since I can't think about anything else, that I'll post a few things on various topics regarding comics.
Next post, which should be up within a few days, will be all about the disdain some people have for comics, and how they sometimes don't see comics and graphic novels as real literature, and how they're not real books.
I'll also be discussing feminism in comics (with a lot of vitriol at the New 52 Wonder Woman, and just Wonder Woman's current situation).
After that, I'll talk about writing in comics, which, as a novelist, I've discovered is incredibly ruthlessly difficult to grasp, but super incredibly fun.
I hope that this will help me keep consistent in posting often, and that I can rant happily about my new passions, and maybe even educate people.
But I've been getting better. I think. My feelings have been going up and down, as to be expected with mental illnesses. But I've been dealing with it. I've made a new friend in my course, who quickly turned into my best friend. And this best friend introduced me to superheroes.
Now, I've read some comics before. I'd read the first 100-something issues of Fables, before getting sick of the convoluted, meandering plot. Ditto with The Walking Dead. But I'd found it difficult to get into superhero comics, mainly because, well, I found the Batman universe uninteresting and too male-angsty for me (Oh, Chris Nolan, please tone down the angst), just to name one example, and the comic community is severely anti-woman, as I've encountered.
But after reading some comics that he forced onto me (I completely recommend Loeb's Hush, Tomasi's Batman and Robin run (up until Damian dies), Simone's Brids of Prey run, and Dini's Gotham City Sirens run), I've become so in love with the feels that the superheroes give me.
So, I've decided, since I can't think about anything else, that I'll post a few things on various topics regarding comics.
Next post, which should be up within a few days, will be all about the disdain some people have for comics, and how they sometimes don't see comics and graphic novels as real literature, and how they're not real books.
I'll also be discussing feminism in comics (with a lot of vitriol at the New 52 Wonder Woman, and just Wonder Woman's current situation).
After that, I'll talk about writing in comics, which, as a novelist, I've discovered is incredibly ruthlessly difficult to grasp, but super incredibly fun.
I hope that this will help me keep consistent in posting often, and that I can rant happily about my new passions, and maybe even educate people.
Thursday, 9 May 2013
Art and Insanity
It's become this thing to associate artists with mental illnesses. Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, David Foster Wallace, Ernest Hemmingway (just to name a few) are all writers who committed suicide. Heck, there's even a wikipedia page on the link between creativity and mental illness.
Mental illness is something I think about often, since I suffer from quite a few different problems: anxiety, depression, and OCD. Who knows what other illnesses I might be harbouring in that brain of mine.
As much as I hate to say it, as a result of this connection between art and insanity, it makes me think of death in a very personal manner. Not in a "I think about killing myself" way (although, when the depression gets really bad, I suppose I can't help but think like that), but it makes me think of how torturous the life of an artist must be, that the mind breaks in such a way.
It's taken me two months to write this post. Sometimes, I delete every single word, because I worry it's too personal, and nobody wants to hear me whining about how sucky my life is. It's so difficult to put my thoughts down, to create something I feel happy with. I haven't written anything in ages. I find myself empty and lost when I try to conjure up some words. I feel like a failure when I can't produce perfection.
I've been skipping school a lot lately. I know I said I'd cut back on skipping classes, but these past few weeks, when I wake up, I just can't get out of bed. I dread facing the day ahead of me. The mere thought of being surrounded by hundreds of people in the city haunts me. So I just hide in my bed and wait for the feeling to pass.
It never does.
My doctor upped my antidepressant dose. It used to be 75mg, but my anxiety had begun to manifest in the form of stomach pains every time I ate, so now my meds are at 150mg. The side effects are annoying. I feel buzzed sometimes, as if my brain isn't really my brain. I space out sometimes. If I take my meds without any food, then I get so nauseous that I feel like I could throw up, but instead of throwing up, I sneeze.
I've been trying so hard to find a therapist, but it's near impossible to find affordable mental health care. And I need someone suited for my needs. My last therapist was great, but she flat out told me that she doesn't know how to deal with anxiety that manifests as OCD. How am I supposed to get better if the government basically doesn't want me to?
My passion for anything has diminished. I don't find absolute joy in writing anymore. I can't even lose myself in a book, and forget about the world around me, and my problems. I don't hang out with my friends because a part of me, the depressed part of me, tells me that I probably won't have any fun, that I'll be too busy worrying about everything to have fun.
I'm slowly punishing my body for having anxiety. I have a form of OCD called dermatillomania, which is essentially a compulsion to pick at the skin. As a result, my arms, shoulders, face and scalp are covered in sores and scabs. I have near-premanent semi-circles under my nails, of blood that's dried from red to brown to black.
I can't wear clothes that show my upper arms or back, because I'm terrified of people seeing the scars and the sores. I'm terrified of what they'll think of me. And it just makes me pick more and more.
On cold days, the scars on my wrists are so purple against my ghost-pale skin. It makes them so much more visible. I used to be so terrified that people would see them. One of my friends freaked out when she saw them. It made me feel like I'd done something bad. But it's so hard to hide them. I can't wear jumpers and long sleeved-shirts forever. I wish someone would just tell me that having these scars isn't such a big deal, and that I'm not weak for wanting to cut.
The nails on my left hand are warped from the way I chew and pick at them. I don't often pick with my right hand, nor do I chew on that hand, so the nails are long and strong. Healthy.
For uni, I had to write about a body part, and I wrote about my skin. I wrote about the hate I have for my dermatillomania, for the anxiety that makes me pick. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to write. This is just as hard.
It's so hard to talk to people about this, simply because for the most part, they don't understand it. I've had so many people tell me to get over it, that I'm just overreacting, that I just need to cheer up, as if it were as simple as that. It just results in me feeling even more broken, because if it's that easy for other people, then why am I struggling so hard? Why can't I just snap my fingers and magically be happy again?
I guess this is why this post exists: so I can get things off my chest before I explode and do something irrational and stupid and possibly dangerous. This is very much a cry for attention and a cry for help. I do in fact want people to reach out to me. I mean, who doesn't?
It's nice to feel wanted and loved every once in a while.
I feel like I am a worthless human being right now. Because writing is the only thing I feel like I'm good at, the only thing I live for. But if I can't write, if I'm too mentally broken to write, where does that leave me?
Mental illness is something I think about often, since I suffer from quite a few different problems: anxiety, depression, and OCD. Who knows what other illnesses I might be harbouring in that brain of mine.
As much as I hate to say it, as a result of this connection between art and insanity, it makes me think of death in a very personal manner. Not in a "I think about killing myself" way (although, when the depression gets really bad, I suppose I can't help but think like that), but it makes me think of how torturous the life of an artist must be, that the mind breaks in such a way.
~
It's taken me two months to write this post. Sometimes, I delete every single word, because I worry it's too personal, and nobody wants to hear me whining about how sucky my life is. It's so difficult to put my thoughts down, to create something I feel happy with. I haven't written anything in ages. I find myself empty and lost when I try to conjure up some words. I feel like a failure when I can't produce perfection.
~
I've been skipping school a lot lately. I know I said I'd cut back on skipping classes, but these past few weeks, when I wake up, I just can't get out of bed. I dread facing the day ahead of me. The mere thought of being surrounded by hundreds of people in the city haunts me. So I just hide in my bed and wait for the feeling to pass.
It never does.
~
I've been trying so hard to find a therapist, but it's near impossible to find affordable mental health care. And I need someone suited for my needs. My last therapist was great, but she flat out told me that she doesn't know how to deal with anxiety that manifests as OCD. How am I supposed to get better if the government basically doesn't want me to?
~
My passion for anything has diminished. I don't find absolute joy in writing anymore. I can't even lose myself in a book, and forget about the world around me, and my problems. I don't hang out with my friends because a part of me, the depressed part of me, tells me that I probably won't have any fun, that I'll be too busy worrying about everything to have fun.
~
I'm slowly punishing my body for having anxiety. I have a form of OCD called dermatillomania, which is essentially a compulsion to pick at the skin. As a result, my arms, shoulders, face and scalp are covered in sores and scabs. I have near-premanent semi-circles under my nails, of blood that's dried from red to brown to black.
I can't wear clothes that show my upper arms or back, because I'm terrified of people seeing the scars and the sores. I'm terrified of what they'll think of me. And it just makes me pick more and more.
On cold days, the scars on my wrists are so purple against my ghost-pale skin. It makes them so much more visible. I used to be so terrified that people would see them. One of my friends freaked out when she saw them. It made me feel like I'd done something bad. But it's so hard to hide them. I can't wear jumpers and long sleeved-shirts forever. I wish someone would just tell me that having these scars isn't such a big deal, and that I'm not weak for wanting to cut.
~
The nails on my left hand are warped from the way I chew and pick at them. I don't often pick with my right hand, nor do I chew on that hand, so the nails are long and strong. Healthy.
~
For uni, I had to write about a body part, and I wrote about my skin. I wrote about the hate I have for my dermatillomania, for the anxiety that makes me pick. It was the hardest thing I'd ever had to write. This is just as hard.
~
It's so hard to talk to people about this, simply because for the most part, they don't understand it. I've had so many people tell me to get over it, that I'm just overreacting, that I just need to cheer up, as if it were as simple as that. It just results in me feeling even more broken, because if it's that easy for other people, then why am I struggling so hard? Why can't I just snap my fingers and magically be happy again?
I guess this is why this post exists: so I can get things off my chest before I explode and do something irrational and stupid and possibly dangerous. This is very much a cry for attention and a cry for help. I do in fact want people to reach out to me. I mean, who doesn't?
It's nice to feel wanted and loved every once in a while.
~
I feel like I am a worthless human being right now. Because writing is the only thing I feel like I'm good at, the only thing I live for. But if I can't write, if I'm too mentally broken to write, where does that leave me?
Thursday, 4 April 2013
Books Read in March
Well, this month has been a surprise.
I'd been expecting my reading rates to drop significantly, due to uni, but if anything, they've risen! Despite being so super busy, March has been the best reading month this year, having read 25 books. (Though, to be fair, some of them were graphic novels, and a small handful were super short, like, around 100 pages long, for classes.)
~ indicates a graphic novel
1. Wanderlust (Sirantha Jax, #2) - Anne Aguirre 4 stars
2. Lost Voices (Lost Voices, #1) - Sarah Porter 2 stars
3. Falling Kingdoms (Falling Kingdoms, #1) - Morgan Rhodes 3 stars
4. Daisy Miller - Henry James 3 stars
5. Fade Out (Morganville Vampires, #7) - Rachel Caine 3 stars
6. Lovely, Dark and Deep - Amy McNamara 4 stars
7. The Five People You Meet in Heaven - Mitch Albom 4 stars
8. To The Lighthouse - Virginia Woolf 4 stars
9. Trouble in Mind (Birds of Prey III, #1) - Duane Swierczynski & Jesus Saiz 5 stars + fave ~
10. Wonder Woman: Odyssey, vol 1 - J. Michael Strczynski 4 stars ~
11. Crank (Crank, #1) - Ellen Hopkins 3½ stars
12. Just One Day (Just One Day, #1) - Gayle Forman 3½ stars
13. Riveted (Iron Seas, #3) - Meljean Brooke 3 stars
14. Orlando - Virginia Woolf 4 stars
15. Vampire Academy (Vampire Academy Graphic Novel, #1) - Richelle Mead & Leigh Dragoon 3 stars ~
16. When We Wake - Karen Healey 4 stars
17. The Great Feminist Denial - Monica Dux & Zora Simic 3 stars
18. In the Penal Colony - Franz Kafka --
19. Paper Valentine - Brenna Yovanoff 3½ stars
20. Nevermore (Nevermore, #1) - Kelly Creagh 5 stars
21. Princess of the Midnight Ball (Princess, #1) - Jessica Day George 3 stars
22. The Dark Unwinding (The Dark Unwinding, #1) - Sharon Cameron 3½ stars
23. The Miseducation of Cameron Post - Emily M. Danforth 4 stars
24. The Time Keeper - Mitch Albom 2 stars
25. The Death of Oracle (Birds of Prey II, #2) - Gail Simone 4 stars ~
This month:
Pages: 7,054Avg. Pages: 282 pages per book
Total:
Books read: 61
Pages: 19,214
Average Pages: 315 pages per book
As many books as I've read this month, when I was supposed to be studying, I don't think I'll be able to read even half as many during April. I have a lot of things due this month (including some flash fiction due tomorrow, an essay on Virginia Woolf, and a couple of workshopping sessions). Busy busy busy.
Thursday, 28 February 2013
Books Read in February
Well, February was a surprising month. I read over twenty books, which kind of amazes me. I blame the fact that I'm on holidays. When school starts up (on Monday, eeep!) I probably won't have any time to read. I remember that last year, majority of my reading time was done on the train to and from uni, which is about an hour's ride each way.
I was surprised, though because I've been hard at work editing the manuscript for FG to send to some CPs (as I stated in a previous post). Most days were spent with several hours sitting in front of my laptop, with the rest of the day either watching tv shows (I managed to score the first 2 seasons of The Walking Dead, and the first seasons of Pretty Little Liars, Vampire Diaries, and Charmed from my local library), or reading. I think I'm going to miss these holidays.
1. Tell the Wolves I'm Home - Carol Rifka Brunt; 5 stars
2. The Wishing Spell (The Land of Stories, #1) - Chris Colfer; 2½ stars
3. The Age of Miracles - Karen Thompson Walker; 4½ stars
4. A Corner of White (The Colours of Madeleine, #1) - Jaclyn Moriarty; 5 stars
5. The Tea Rose (The Tea Rose, #1) - Jennifer Donnelly; 3½ stars
6. The Grimm Legacy (The Grimm Legacy, #1) - Polly Shulman; 3 stars
7. When We Were Executioners (Dogsland, #2) - J.M. McDermott; 3 stars
8. Dark Inside (Dark Inside, #1) - Jeyn Roberts; 3 stars
9. The Golden Lily (Bloodlines, #2) - Richelle Mead; 4½ stars
10. Amber House (Amber House, #1) - Kelly Moore, Tucker Reed & Larkin Reed; 4 stars
11. Gone, Gone, Gone - Hannah Moskowitz; 2 stars
12. Dragon Slippers (Dragon Slippers, #1) - Jessica Day George; 4 stars
13. Everybody Sees the Ants - A.S. King; 4 stars
14. The Lucky Ones (Bright Young Things, #3) - Anna Godbersen; 3½ stars
15. In Honor - Jessi Kirbi; 2½ stars
16. Starling (Starling, #1) - Lesley Livington; 3½ stars
17. Lord of Misrule (The Morganville Vampires, #5) - Rachel Caine; 3 stars
18. Carpe Corpus (The Morganville Vampires, #6) - Rachel Caine; 3½ stars
19. Mistwood (Mistwood, #1) - Leah Cypess; 4½ stars
20. Life Everlasting - Bernd Heinrich; 3 stars
21. All This Could End - Steph Bowe; 3½ stars
This month:
Pages: 6,832
Avg. pages: 325 pages per book
Total:
Books read: 36
Pages: 12,160
Avg. pages: 337 per book
The most important thing to note about this list is that this month, there are no faves. Sure, I gave some books quite high ratings (5 stars for both Tell the Wolves I'm Home and A Corner of White), but none of them really grabbed me, you know? Maybe this month just wasn't a lucky month, or maybe (I'm sure a lot of non-readers would argue this, like my mother), they've just become meaningless words, because I read too fast.
Nah, definitely not the latter, thank you very much.
I'll just have to read even more books to find a favourite.
I might be posting even less when the semester starts (what, like less than I already have been? HA HA HA), but monthly reading recaps will definitely be happening, because I'm obsessive about recording books. And it'll be one of those things to let you know I'm still alive and haven't been slobbered to death by the giant puppy.
This giant puppy:
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| I should totally end all blog posts with pictures of Layla, right? Right. |
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