That day, as I battled through my fifth sodden field I couldn’t help comparing how I was feeling at that moment to how I felt reading Ulysses – in a word, STUCK.
I’ve tried, I really have, but I just can’t do it. Ulysses has me beaten. And not for the first time. Because I have tried before: twice. I searched in vain for the copy I bought back in my university days. Only to discover that it must have been in the pile of books I gave to the charity shop last year . . . I never thought I’d need it again, you see.
This time, I resorted to the e book version.
And so came my third attempt.
How many pages did I read?
Hard to tell on the kindle, but it was a paltry 1%.
What is it about (in 20 words)?
I didn´t read enough of it to find out.
Failure is not a word I like to use often, but this really does feel like one.
Looking on the bright side, I’ve managed to write a whole blog post on the subject of not having read a book.
Things I’d rather be doing than reading Ulysses.
- Repairing the massive plot hole in my own novel.
- Mopping up the water in my leaking writing cabin.
- Walking dog through a swamp.
- Washing said dog after walking him through a swamp.
- Testing my son on his Russian spelling homework.
I’ve barely scraped the mud off my boots when I’m faced with the next quagmire . . .
My next bog, I mean blog post, will be on THE ODYSSEY by Homer (Sob).