Sunday, 15 August 2010
For years I used to think I was a weirdo. I'd be reading a book and I'd get so caught up in the emotions of the characters that I had to put the book down and go and do something else. My heart would be racing, mind filled with images that weren't always pleasurable. Given that most of my early reading experiences were horror or thrillers you can imagine the nasty surprises I tormented myself with.
But now I'm trying to write myself I can appreciate that this is exactly the response the author was trying to get. As someone once said, it's better to be upset than to feel nothing at all. Surely we read to feel vivariously the emotions of others? So it turns out I'm not a weirdo at all - at least, not in that respect.