You are probably a compulsive reader, must be if you're reading this. Compulsive readers read cornflakes boxes and are grateful for the French on them (if they're Canadian). Some people owe their (in)complete knowledge of French or nutrition or astrology or whatever to pick-up reading. How much do they - you - I - remember of the huge amounts of words, i.e. information, insights, emotions, experiences, psychology, comfort and entertainment that pass "like "light through glass," as one writer put it. (See? I retained something.) Is it possible to choose more carefully What one reads? Does one want to? We read, I think, as we eat, not content with a constant, unchanging, bland diet, but craving spice, heat and challenge as well as good nutrition. What do we retain? Indigestion, fat, a restless desire for more, whatever more is. Oh dear, this was going to be fairly simple but it's getting more complicated as I go along. Cut to the chase, B.J. Well, here's one leg of it: have you ever picked up a book, usually a mystery, not recognizing the title, but realizing as you begin to make your way along, that you've read it before. Of course, you have, and depending on what else is available, you put it down and pick up something else, or you re-read it, marvelling at what you don't remember. So why did you read it in the first place? What did you retain that was of any use to you? Was it merely a pass-time? Yes, but. Now I'm going to take the writer's place: why did he/she write it? It took effort and energy and thought. Was that all wasted? On you? Remember Graham Greene made a distinction between his serious books and what he called his entertainments? (Of course, some of his "entertainments" are seriously good; we won't go into that now.) I think my point is, if there is one, is that everything you have encountered in your reading in some way has changed or defined or added to who/what you are as a person. "I am a part of all that I have met.." Oh, and "these fragments I have shored against my ruins." See, I do retain a few things.

More time has passed and there you are (are you?) waiting for me. Oh my. Well, this is not a diary, this is supposed to be written in pursuit of ideas. I wake up with loads of them. It's choosing that's hard, and finding time is harder. Okay. I woke up early yesterday morning rewriting in my mind some scenes from a TV show I had scarcely watched the night before (it was a re-run and I was reading something at the same time). The fault I found with the scene I was going over in my head is a common fault: there's no follow-up. Lots of scenes have an improv quality; they start and stop with little relationship to what has gone before or will follow after. What happens after the close-up on the kiss or the knock-out or the walk-out? Cut to another scene vaguely related, but only vaguely to what just happened? Audiences have been trained to make leaps in time without filling in the blanks. Most blanks are easily assumed. For example, on Wednesday a character says, "I'll see you at the dance on Saturday," and the writer doesn't have to slog blow-by-blow through Thursday and Friday to Saturday night. Just cut to MUSIC OVER before the balloons or decorations appear and a woman is fixing her hair in the women's room, and we know it's dance-time. But sometimes we have to know what happened right after that close-up. After the kiss, did the couple part or go to bed? After the knock-out, did the character lie unconscious, or go the hospital or bleed out? I know, I know, there are times when less is more, but sometimes more is necessary. You have to spell it out. More anon. I had a lot to do yesterday.