My title is partially borrowed from Stephan King’s On Writing: A Memoir Of The Craft, a review for this book is forthcoming.
I didn’t just mention Stephan King’s work to hyperlink to another one of my blogs (though I do enjoy publicity, and having my words read), but King touches on the subject of reading terrible books. And I somewhat agree with his claims at the start of his text, but disagree in that terrible books should not be read (this sentence breathes contradictory).
Reading is fun, reading a terrible book is frustrating. Ever been in a situation before where you’ve slammed a book shut, and realized that the author is makes writing look like a cant? It frustrates some books make it to print. As readers, we also see terrible writing as a glimmer of hope.
Bad writing is, like, totally hopefully. Man. Like, she, looked at him and bit her lower lip. *two pages later,* she looked at him, and bit her lower lip. *halfway down the same page* she looked into his eyes, and bit her lower lip.
Here’s another example taken from a terrible piece of literature titled Walk Two Moons: I counted, the characters say they are going to call the police, or called the police 21 different times throughout the entirety of the “story.” I’ve delved deeper into why I will never teach Walk Two Moons, and why I think its a terrible book here.
When I read books like these (and I can’t wait until I write a scathing review for Esperanza’s Rising), I feel frustrated and rekindled; I write better than some authors that have been in print their entire careers.
Stephan King coins it a waste of time to read terrible stories, but for me, it pushes my patience as a reader, and it rekindles my hope as a writer.
