Read about Writing, Write about Reading

It's been a few weeks since my last entry. I resumed my work in Boston, I got my computer fixed, and I noticed how I don't really need it anymore for the most part of my week, but when I do and it's not there I really miss it. Not having my laptop with me meant not being able to write properly a blog entry. It meant not being able to backup the photos I took over the holidays, or upload them to the inter-webs. I kept up to date with the weather, checked my email, and browsed my face-book-news-wall thanks to my phone, but I haven't had the chance to do anything important. Now I have windows 8 (it kind of sucks [although it is quite pretty]), I was able to backup all my files, and have switched to open office. As I wait a few minutes for my most precious electronic belonging to download back into my laptop (my music library), I sip some tea, and write a bit.

One can not really write if one doesn't read. I remember having read a book by Steven King when I was a kid, it was called While I Write. In it he writes quick-tips and rules of thumb he normally follows (I still remember quite a few), and one of them is that he tries to read at least ten times more than what he writes. This seemed quite a lot to me back in the day, but lately I've come to realize it's not that much really: If a writer gets one novel done per year, and he reads about a book a month, he'll be already reading twelve times more than what he writes... Does this mean that Steven King doesn't read enough? It may appear that way.

In his defense, I also remember another rule of thumb (I don't remember anymore where I heard/read it but it's been stuck in my mind for a lot of time so the source must have been credible) that says: one can not read about what one does not know (I think I already talked a bit about this previously). So it's important to have something to say when one writes, and it's easier to write about life and stuff when one spends a good amount of time at living it... and stuff. So I guess we'll give Mr. King the benefit of the doubt and assume he spends a lot of time hunting ghosts and fighting demons.

In the department of reading I've been quite active. I finished Love in the Times of Cholera. I also finished the Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest, and the Great Gatsby. I really enjoyed the three of them:

• Garcia Marquez's book was astonishingly simple in form. In essence, I didn't get the whole Magical Realism thing except for a few bits of fantasy (there's an immortal parrot) here and there. The whole story is actually quite similar to that of my grandpa and my grandma, or to stories they used to tell me when I was little, about their friends, about oddities that happened in their little town when they were young.
• Stieg Larsson's book was just as good as the previous two in Froken Salander's trilogy. Though the story is quite predictable (logical maybe?) at certain parts, it is quite witty. The story develops at several depths in quite an intense way. It is a story about society and the authorities, but also one about gender inequalities, about the foundation of democracy, about journalism, and it is also a spy novel.
• Fitzgerald's most famous work was a fun break from big novels with many plots. It's amazing how a tiny story can achieve such greatness. I guess it's all about being American: Americans are concise. On that note, last weekend I saw at the Library (the one on 5^th Avenue and 42^nd Street) an exhibition on NY lunches, and a cool phrase was being displayed: the American is born fast, grows fast, makes up his mind fast, eats fast, gets rich fast, and dies fast.

In keeping up with Latin America, the next book on my list is be Cabaret Místico, by Alejandro Jodorowsky. I can't wait to start reading.