Ragdoll is Daniel Cole’s first novel and it started life as a screenplay. Perhaps that’s where the problem lay a little for me. I mean, don’t get me wrong… I enjoyed this book, but I know many have LOVED it. And I didn’t. I think the book had great potential, but it felt like we were in people’s heads when we shouldn’t have been and timing and elements (on occasion) seemed bit confusing.
It may not surprise you to know that my love of books and television started in childhood. And although I don’t tend to watch many now, I was also a lover of movies. We weren’t avid movie-goers but – until the local cinema closed in my final year of high school – I went as often as possible. Back then it seemed there was something comforting about the fantasy world and unlimited potential movies offered via their outlandish plots…
It’s that time of the week again… and there’ll be no weather talk from me cos it’s still hot and dry in my part of Australia. Alas.
It won’t surprise regular readers of my blog or social media devotees, but I thought I should declare…. at this time… the most romantic time of year, that I don’t read romantic fiction.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not a snobbery thing. I have nothing against ‘genre’ fiction. I’m not the sort of person who refuses to read anything other than epic tomes by dead Russians. Or similar. Indeed, I tend to shy away from Literary fiction, with a capital L, cos it scares and confuses me and will most certainly leave me wondering what exactly I’ve just spent several hours of my life on.
I’ve struggled with the last few topics the lovely Denyse Whelan has proffered for her Monday ‘Life this week’ link-ups. Indeed, my post about routines (and my to-do lists) is wallowing in my drafts folder, along with last week’s post pondering ‘how much money is enough?’
This week – as it happens – has been no different. The topic is love, and my immediate response was to write something about poor old 49 year old me who’s never been ‘in love’ or ‘loved’ (romantically). And how it shits me that others take that for granted (ie. being loved) while I blame my weight and various other nuances for my eternal singleness.
While much of the US is being buried under piles of snow, we here in Australia are battling the fires of hell. Or similar. I suspect all of us (though am not sure what’s happening in Europe, Asia etc) have all available limbs crossed for more moderate climes. Either way, it’s ideal weather for staying inside and doing some reading. While occasionally taking a break to moan about the weather. #obvs
Many moons ago I did pilates a couple of times a week. My instructor (also my neighbour) used to comment on the fact I had good proprioception.
And… to save you googling, it basically means I had a pretty good body awareness in terms of movement. Or as wikipedia puts it… “the sense of the relative position of neighbouring parts of the body and strength of effort being employed in movement.”