As of
tonight I have officially passed the 100,000 word mark in my novel. I have also
made a big decision about the narrative this week: this will not be a
standalone story. Due to the direction the plot has taken (some of it planned,
some of it not) the story has basically no shot of being complete in a single
volume. Will I write the 2nd book? I have no idea! That will probably depend on
how well book 1 turns out.
Seeing
as how I have just passed this major threshold in my writing, it seems fitting
for me to write my post about why I love literature next.
Luna
was accurate in her assessment that my last post was too long (and that was
after I cut out a few paragraphs) so I think I'm going to split this one into
two parts. Part 1 will highlight my long history with literature, and part 2
will dive into the reasons why I love literature.
Why I
Love Literature Part 1 - A History
My
earliest memories of reading were with my grandma. I was exceptionally
privileged to have her teach me how to read. She was a teacher for something
just shy of 30 years and, to my knowledge, spent most of that time teaching
children how to read and write. When the school I was enrolled in for grade 2
decided I wasn't allowed to attend there days before school started (long
story) my parents made an unusual decision. I lived about three blocks away
from my grandma, and they decided that I would be homeschooled that year. So
every morning when my brother got in the car to attend kindergarten, I would
hop on my bike and ride over to my grandparent's place and have 1-on-1 private
schooling from a 30 year veteran. We would practice reading, writing, and math
until lunch time, she would feed me lunch, and then I would bike home and be
done for the day. It was a pretty awesome set-up and by the time grade 3 rolled
around and I went back to an actual school I was pretty far ahead of most
people in reading ability.
My
first foray into what I will call 'serious reading' (simply meaning I read a
lot) happened a couple years later when my grandpa took me to a flea market and
I saw a display with a Star Wars book on it. He bought it for me and I think I
spent the next few years rarely missing a night where I read at least an hour
before bed as well as whenever I could throughout the day. I still have a
collection of ~140 Star Wars books in my old room. My aunt Diane also bought me
a big box of Hardy Boy's books a little while after that, and I would devour
one a night until I had worked my way through most of them.
Some of
my fondest memories of middle and high school were sharing impressions and
excitement with friend over the books we had read, or taking their recommendations
and giving them mine and then revelling in the wonders discovered within. Two
memories stand out to me from that time. First was my friend BJ spoiling what
may have been the biggest event in the entire cannon of Star Wars books. He
managed to get his hands on the most recent volume first, blasted through it in
a sitting or something close, and then sent me a message wherein he poured out
his frustration over one of the central characters dying. I still haven't
forgiven him for that. The other was my friend Josh sitting behind the couch in
the upper floor of the library and reading his favorite book series out loud to
whoever would listen. I had already read the series upon his recommendation so
I never stuck around long, but how dedicated he was to sharing his love of the
story with others always stuck with me.
It was
around this time that I also tried my hand at writing some fiction along with a
few of my friends. We had this crazy idea that we would each create a character
that lived in the same universe as each other's, except we would all write
about the same events from the perspective of our chosen hero. It ended up
fizzling out after we continually fought over who got to decide the arc of the
plot, but I found the process exhilarating and always wished we would have
written more.
My
perspective on literature at that point of time was not at all academic. I read
books because I enjoyed them and wanted to read more. I was learning and
growing the whole while, but only came to understand those things later and
upon reflection. The shift from what I read being 'books' to being 'literature'
began to happen in grade 12 in my English and English Literature classes. Even
though we had studied all sorts of literature in school for many years at that
point, there was something about the critical approach they required us to take
in those classes that forced me to think about what I was reading in a
different way.
It was
also during that time that I read Hamlet, performed my first meaningful
rendition of Shakespeare (a scene from King Lear), and wrote my first poem.
Hamlet showed me how much meaning could be contained in one piece of writing.
The King Lear performance helped me connect my emotions and personality to what
I was reading. The poem allowed me to express myself with clarity and
confidence. The poem actually ended up being about how there can be meaning hidden
in the different ways we write and speak, which was an epiphany I had while
writing the first draft of the poem. Thus, I also learned that the process of
writing could teach me things as well.
I
didn't know exactly what I wanted to study when I started university, but I was
fairly certain it would be something in the sciences. I had taken as many of
them as I could in high school, and even went so far as to take Math 12 in the
summer so I could take calculus in grade 12. My grades in math and science were
a bit higher than in anything else academic and I found the topics fascinating,
so it seemed a logical choice to continue studying in those fields. The
university I attended, Trinity Western, required every student to take a wide
variety of courses alongside whatever their major was to ensure every student
had a comprehensive, well-rounded education. I did what any student who was
unsure of their major did and took as many of those general elective classes as
I could my first year. By the end of it I had studied math, physics, music, theatre,
Biblical studies, English and philosophy. I was feeling pretty set on completing
a degree in physics after that - it seemed the most practical and I loved the
two classes I took - but at the start of my 2nd year I found out that not only
did Trinity not offer a full physics degree but that with the way courses were
going to be scheduled I wouldn't even be able to complete a concentration in my
4 years there; not focusing during my first year had cost me that opportunity. After
much thought, advice, and research I decided I would complete a general studies
degree with a double minor in physics and something else yet decided.
After
2nd year I had an epiphany: I was tired of generalizing in everything I did and
really wanted to finish with some kind of specialized degree. It felt very
important to me at the time so I poured over my transcript and tallied up my
credits in every discipline I had studied to see if it was possible. It
suddenly dawned on me that I had taken a ton of English classes, one in every
elective slot where it was an option. I realized that if I loaded my schedule
up with mostly English classes the rest of the way I would be able to pull off
an English degree. So I did.
2.5
years later I had it done. Some of the classes had content that I found dry and
forgettable - Canadian Literature and Chaucer stand out to me - but many of
them were riveting - creative writing, both Shakespeare classes, children's
literature, and fantasy literature come first to mind - and I was glad I made
the choice I did when I was done. A part of me couldn't believe that I had an
English degree after my intentions had been to study in the maths or sciences
for so long. Looking back, if Trinity had offered a full physics degree I may
well have completed it. Maybe it was destiny or maybe it was just a solid
back-up option, but the lessons I learned studying the classics and figuring
out how to express my thoughts and feelings with words have proven invaluable
to me.
I wrote
a lot of poetry during my university days; it was my main outlet to process my
thoughts and emotions. After I graduated the amount I wrote decreased
dramatically, but I never stopped thinking about things I wanted to write
about. I always knew I would return to it one day, but for a few years I
focused more on other things.
I
remember one day when I was working as an EA at the school I graduated from I
had a thought that seemed an interesting idea for a novel. I had never really
considered writing a novel before - it always seemed like way too much work -
but the idea intrigued me so I continued to think about it for the next few
months, jotting down any ideas I had for it as I went. As I did so, other ideas
came to me and by the time I started teacher's college I had a list of a
half-dozen concepts for novels that I felt worth remembering. Life got far too
busy after that to think much on them, but in the back of my mind I thought
that maybe someday far in the future I might look back at my musings and
thoughts and suddenly realize I was older and wiser enough to actually take on
the task of writing a novel.
At the
time I imagined I would probably do it when I was old. Yet here I sit, not a
month 29 and over 100,000 words into my first novel. How I got to this point
... well, I mostly already explained in a previous post.
In summary,
my history with literature has been fairly typical in some ways, and really odd
in other ways. I have by no means been a person who has claimed literature to
be his biggest passion, writing to be his life goal, or even reading to be his
all time favorite hobby. I have a degree studying it, but only as a rebound
when my first choice proved unavailable. But regardless of the path I've taken
to study, appreciate, and create literature, there are many reasons why I have
come to love it.
But
more on that in my next post.
