thoughts on a novel

i've always been a voracious reader. it's difficult to really remember a time when books didn't interest me. i've just always loved them. i love the telling of the story. i love the voices of the characters and the description of places i've never seen and, perhaps outside of the page, will never see. i've been trying to figure out lately how it is that i "read" a book.

i mean, what sound does the written word make in my head? whose voice is it when it's not the dialogue's or narrator's? even now, as i sit in bed writing this blog post, and i'm reading over words i myself have just written, it's hard for me to hear the voice that plays them back to me. once i concentrate on it, it changes to fit whatever or whoever it is i'm consciously thinking about.

and aside from my obsession with the chatter of my internal monologue, i've been noticing that i'm much more of a dialogue person than i once though. i mean, i love a good description, but once i've got the look of a room or a road or a forest in my head, i tend to just skip over other descriptive passages and head straight for the conversation. and i let it play out in my head the way it would naturally, organically. then, if it doesn't quite work in my own imagination for some reason or the other, i take hints from the author.

it's a strange way to read a book.

and it's almost impossible to do with harry potter.

i've been re-reading harry potter and the half-blood prince and harry potter and the deathly hallows again. finished them both just this passed week and am completely obsessed once more. i mean, you all thought i liked twilight? it doesn't even come close to my deep love and appreciation for j.k. rowlings and her hogwarts universe. like twilight, i came in to harry potter later in the game than those in the know, but early enough not to be considered among those living under rocks. by the time i picked up on the frenzy, the fourth book was just about to be released (again, like twilight). i was at the public library one day during a school break and picked up the first book. then made my mother drive me the half hour back into town the next day to borrow the next two. i can't remember her being more irritated with me and my reading habits than she was when i discovered harry potter. i read non-stop. i read all day, all night, i read at the dinner table, in the car, wherever, whenever.

it was amazing. a whole new world. and the details! how can one person come up with so many small details? how can so many small details be so integral to a book? it's impossible to concentrate on voices when you're so engrossed in the story line. it's impossible to skip over passages after you realize that what you once thought was a mundane description has become the lynch-pin of the entire book. that is what makes for great story telling. when you can't fill in the blanks for yourself. when you don't want to.

these are the things that i'm thinking of as i consider how to take the leap and begin a novel. i've been putting it off. chances are, i'll continue to put it off (because i'm scared i'll write it and it won't be any good?), but i'm trying not to.