I keep reblogging other people’s stuff…. not because I don’t have anything to say, but because I don’t particularly have anything less than depressing to say. :/

I don’t want this to be one of those complainy-whiney blogs! But you know, some seasons are just darn depressing. And I’m one of those people who would rather have NO smile at all than a fake one.

So I keep waiting. Waiting to have something inspiring to write about. Or encouraging. Or funny! Well, there might have been funny things lately I could write about. But they’re sort of like the cheese in between two pieces of yuck.

So for now, I write to say… I don’t know what to say that doesn’t suck. 

I finished “Looking for Alaska”. Whew.  That was a ride. And awesome.

So that was John Green book #3. There are five. And I have an enormous dilemma on my hands… do I go download #4, pronto, and devour it in a day or two like I have the other three?

Or do I head off into some other literary adventure and save those last two and have something wonderful to look forward to?

I guess it’s just a new twist on “eat dessert first, or last?” My mini Great Perhaps, perhaps? (Sorry, had to do it.)

And not to give away the ending to my own story, but I’m just gonna go ahead and admit I’ve been stalking the “Paper Towns” page for like, an hour. :/

If you are what you read, then I am John Green. :D

I’m not ashamed to admit that I want to marry Charles Dickens something awful, but I actually stopped reading “Bleak House” a third of the way through, so I could read “An Abundance of Katherines” with the Austenette. 

I mean, if I put down Dickens for you, you’re something special.

And not only that, but when “Katherines” ended, I went back to “Bleak House” for, oh, two chapters before I ran off to download “Looking for Alaska” to my Kindle. :)

I *should* feel badly about cheating on Dickens and all. And normally, I would. (Actually, normally I would never even entertain the thought.)

It’s just that my head is so full of John Green’s endlessly quotable prose right now that, well, I can’t even recall a thing Dickens ever wrote.

It’s funny. They’re quite similar, the two writers. And I adore them both for the same reasons. It’s a rare author who can send you from laughter to tears in the course of only a few paragraphs, but they both pull it off.

There is something very droll in their humor, which I suspect is subtlely overlooked by too many, and yet their profound observations about the world in which we live provide food for thought long after the covers are closed.

Well. I could write about these two all day. But I have a labyrinth to ponder with Alaska.

People have told me for years that I should keep a public blog, but I’ve always thought it was a little self-absorbed.

More than that, I’ve worried that I just won’t have anything [interesting] to say. As Paul Kemp says in The Rum Diaries, “I don’t know how to write like me.”

Worst of all, I’ve worried that no one would want to read the things I want to say.

That’s all still true, but this time I gave in because it’s a way of supporting a friend of mine.

We’re both in the process of redefining ourselves, letting go of some parts of ourselves we’ve outgrown, and branching out in new, unfamiliar ways.

So here’s to you, my fellow Austenette, and to new beginnings for both of us.