As we age our tastes change and grow. The things that used to tickle my funny bone still do but conversely a lot I once found funny now leaves me cold. This is also true of music. Those old rock and roll songs still resonate but possibly with a tinge of nostalgia as much as pure joy. John Peel used to say that his constant search for new sounds was driven by nostalgia. Peel was an example to us all as he searched then listened to countless new CD’s. I have very different taste to the much missed DJ but share the same, almost desperate desire to discover something unbelievably groundbreaking and fresh.
I find little joy in much, but not all, contemporary music’s. I find myself more drawn to jazz and classical. It isn’t a case of me locating a nearby ladder, placing it against my own bottom before climbing in to search for my pretentious intellect; it isn’t hiding there any more than it is in my brain. I just like the sound of strings, of saxophones, of brass and woodwind.
The same is true of my reading habits.
Looking back at many of the authors I read as a child, teenager, young adult and even into my thirties, so many now I wouldn’t look at let alone purchase. Not because they are bad or my intellect has improved. It has everything to do with taste. Fleming, Orwell and Steven King remain favoured as do Burroughs and Buckeridge but a whole slew of styles no longer appeal.
I see from friend Paul’s Shelfari site that he too finds many modern thrillers if not fatally flawed the seriously silly. Paul is far more scathing with his critiques than I would ever dare to be. I think this may be due to my own efforts at writing and not wanting too heavy a slagging for them.
Nowadays, I enjoy the works of Peter Ackroyd, Terry Pratchett, Richard Dawkins, Kiran Desai (one book thus far but what a novel!), and almost any autobiog or biog of people whom I admire.
With ‘The Wilful Walks’ now seriously amended and largely re-written with additional material now included, I have started to read the works of essayists and fellow flâneur’s. Apparently, Will Self is a keen walker and one who writes as he wanders or perhaps more accurately records his walks then writes about them.
Will Self is the sort of man most average writers despise as he has huge amounts of talent. He is another whose novels I enjoy.
‘The Wilful Walks’ were trimmed back to about 90,000 words but have now had an additional 14,000 written. I am continuing to edit and add bits with still more areas to write about. I would guess that the book currently is about 400 pages long. By the time I finish (my deadline is the end of September) I should have composed about 110,000 words and about 500 pages.
all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?
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