I've decided to start documenting my life. Preferably in a manner that would make it seem more engaging and eventful than it really is. (This leads me to wonder whether my life really is as boring as I think it is, or if it's actually pretty interesting, and I've just become desensitized to it. But that's a big ol' existential train of thought for later documentation...)
Who knows, maybe I'll actually be able to finagle something readable and marginally better than The Dive from Clausen's Pier onto paper. Terrible book. Don't read it. The only redeeming characters were on the periphery, and they were quickly written out in favor of selfish, predictable characters.
It's just been decided. I'm turning this into a rant against the only piece of "literature" ("" because I don't fully believe it deserves to be called literature) that I have ever actively destroyed. I don't remember who wrote it, and frankly I don't care enough to look her up.
Here's a quick summary:
-Girl falls out of love with fiance.
-Fiance becomes paralyzed after jumping off of Clausen's Pier.
-Girl can't handle paralyzed fiance.
-Girl runs away to New York without warning.
-Girl moves into nook of stranger's house.
-Girl meets inappropriately-aged new boyfriend.
-Girl falls in love with new guy.
-New guy isn't what girl expected.
-Girl goes home for an emergency visit.
-Girl decides to stay home in order to take care of paralyzed ex-fiance, thus bailing on New Guy and the few New York friends (including the aforementioned quality characters) she's made.
Sorry if you like it, but I thought it was painfully contrived and had zero variation in sentence structure. This was the first book I finished purely out of spite; I couldn't let it beat me.
I burned it in the fireplace on Christmas.