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“I don’t understand why people are such snobs about books. If you enjoy romances, read them. I don’t want Thanksgiving dinner every day. Some days I want a ham sandwich and a dozen chocolate chip cookies. And some days I want to read Jane Austen, and other days I want to read Agatha Christie, or maybe some author that no one has ever heard of who writes fun books that make me smile.”
― Cars and Cold Cases
― Cars and Cold Cases
“Where did the fiction go?
When did we begin to write off literature when its contents contained a character who remained true to themselves?
It’s not my job as an author to create a character everyone likes, one who personifies perfection.
However…it is my job to be true to the character’s personality, even when their attributes are dark, demented, and contrary to all we believe, or have been taught is right.
It is my job to show the reader, the good, bad, and the ugly of the protagonist’s true nature that resides within them.
It is not my job to create a character everyone loves, adores, agrees, and sides with.
True literature remains true to the characters within the pages they inhabit; even when the readers may not understand or agree with their integrity or lack thereof.
As an author I share a bond with each and every character within the books I write. Though they are figments of my imagination, they are alive, and to them I will always remain true; even when the reader may, or may not understand.
©2015 Suzanne Steele”
―
When did we begin to write off literature when its contents contained a character who remained true to themselves?
It’s not my job as an author to create a character everyone likes, one who personifies perfection.
However…it is my job to be true to the character’s personality, even when their attributes are dark, demented, and contrary to all we believe, or have been taught is right.
It is my job to show the reader, the good, bad, and the ugly of the protagonist’s true nature that resides within them.
It is not my job to create a character everyone loves, adores, agrees, and sides with.
True literature remains true to the characters within the pages they inhabit; even when the readers may not understand or agree with their integrity or lack thereof.
As an author I share a bond with each and every character within the books I write. Though they are figments of my imagination, they are alive, and to them I will always remain true; even when the reader may, or may not understand.
©2015 Suzanne Steele”
―
“If I'm an advocate for anything, it's to move. As far as you can, as much as you can. Across the ocean, or simply across the river. The extent to which you can walk in someone else's shoes or at least eat their food, it's a plus for everybody.
Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.”
―
Open your mind, get up off the couch, move.”
―
“If you really want to escape the things that harass you, what you’re needing is not to be in a different place but to be a different person.”
― Letters from a Stoic
― Letters from a Stoic
“Distance changes utterly when you take the world on foot. A mile becomes a long way, two miles literally considerable, ten miles whopping, fifty miles at the very limits of conception. The world, you realize, is enormous in a way that only you and a small community of fellow hikers know. Planetary scale is your little secret.
Life takes on a neat simplicity, too. Time ceases to have any meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite wonderful, really.
You have no engagements, commitments, obligations, or duties; no special ambitions and only the smallest, least complicated of wants; you exist in a tranquil tedium, serenely beyond the reach of exasperation, “far removed from the seats of strife,” as the early explorer and botanist William Bartram put it. All that is required of you is a willingness to trudge.
There is no point in hurrying because you are not actually going anywhere. However far or long you plod, you are always in the same place: in the woods. It’s where you were yesterday, where you will be tomorrow. The woods is one boundless singularity. Every bend in the path presents a prospect indistinguishable from every other, every glimpse into the trees the same tangled mass. For all you know, your route could describe a very large, pointless circle. In a way, it would hardly matter.
At times, you become almost certain that you slabbed this hillside three days ago, crossed this stream yesterday, clambered over this fallen tree at least twice today already. But most of the time you don’t think. No point. Instead, you exist in a kind of mobile Zen mode, your brain like a balloon tethered with string, accompanying but not actually part of the body below. Walking for hours and miles becomes as automatic, as unremarkable, as breathing. At the end of the day you don’t think, “Hey, I did sixteen miles today,” any more than you think, “Hey, I took eight-thousand breaths today.” It’s just what you do.”
― A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail
Life takes on a neat simplicity, too. Time ceases to have any meaning. When it is dark, you go to bed, and when it is light again you get up, and everything in between is just in between. It’s quite wonderful, really.
You have no engagements, commitments, obligations, or duties; no special ambitions and only the smallest, least complicated of wants; you exist in a tranquil tedium, serenely beyond the reach of exasperation, “far removed from the seats of strife,” as the early explorer and botanist William Bartram put it. All that is required of you is a willingness to trudge.
There is no point in hurrying because you are not actually going anywhere. However far or long you plod, you are always in the same place: in the woods. It’s where you were yesterday, where you will be tomorrow. The woods is one boundless singularity. Every bend in the path presents a prospect indistinguishable from every other, every glimpse into the trees the same tangled mass. For all you know, your route could describe a very large, pointless circle. In a way, it would hardly matter.
At times, you become almost certain that you slabbed this hillside three days ago, crossed this stream yesterday, clambered over this fallen tree at least twice today already. But most of the time you don’t think. No point. Instead, you exist in a kind of mobile Zen mode, your brain like a balloon tethered with string, accompanying but not actually part of the body below. Walking for hours and miles becomes as automatic, as unremarkable, as breathing. At the end of the day you don’t think, “Hey, I did sixteen miles today,” any more than you think, “Hey, I took eight-thousand breaths today.” It’s just what you do.”
― A Walk in the Woods: Rediscovering America on the Appalachian Trail
Lost’s 2024 Year in Books
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