I dreamed that a number of my friends/roommates were talking about my writing while I was sitting in the room, listening uncomfortable. They were very negatively critical of things, didn’t have anything good to say at all, and didn’t seem to be aware that I was the person responsible for this terrible writing. I thought to myself “I hope they don’t find out I wrote that.” It was a very uncomfortable dream. For a writer, it’s a nightmare. A very dull, subtle nightmare.
In other news, I finished reading Life of Pi. I’m not going to write a review, like I planned. There’s a lot that could be said about it, but it didn’t evoke a very strong reaction, aside from the completely adorable swarm of meerkats, and as it would be entirely for fun, I only want to review books that excite me. Logically, it might be a better idea to review something about which i can think detachedly and academically, but that doesn’t sound very interesting. The thing I most want to relate to other readers was that I never felt like I connected to the book. The writing style was not complex or overdone, making it a quick read, and there were a number of lovely passages and interesting anecdotes to be taken from the book, but on the whole I was less impressed than I expected to be. (That is not to say that someone else, who is not me, would not consider this the best book they’ve ever read. It won prizes, after all. It just isn’t for me.)
In the near future I will be reading Pale Fire by Nabokov, and The Unbearable Lightness of Being. Possibly at the same time – it depends if I become very absorbed in the first one I start. Following this I plan to read Paulo Coelho’s The Witch of Portobello, although that depends on how long the other two take me – I might squeeze another book in before the Coelho. I’m not sure what good it’s doing me, really, all this reading, but as they/I say, a good writer (or a dedicated writer) should read a lot throughout his/her life. I feel very literary.
I’ve changed the title for an older post, and I like this title much better. Have a look —->
(And in other other news, I’m still unemployed. See title of post…)
This Will Be Changing 
Forgot to comment on the dream. I hate dreams. Mine are always at least slightly uncomfortable. Sometimes very uncomfortable.
I could barely make myself finish The Life of Pi. I was embarrassed about that because everyone else speaks so highly of it.
You are literary. Possibly that’s why you feel literary.
Dreams are so strange! I dreamed my husband drove away and left me someplace where I was visiting. I tried to call him on my cell phone to tell him to come back, and the cell phone kept falling apart! I’d put it back together and try to dial and it would fall apart again! I was glad to wake up and find out he was in the bed next to me after all. It seems that a lot of those funny dreams make one feel very uncomfortable and unloved.