I’ve been
devouring John Grisham’s debut novel 'A Time To Kill' for the past week, which
is the first time I’ve sped through a good book in ages.
While I’ve always
been an avid reader (or a David one) I sometimes get out of the habit, according to my mood. It doesn’t help that
I’ve gone through a spate of writing my blog immediately before bed,
which I'd prefer not to do, partly because it cuts into time when I might
be reading or - Shock! Horror! - sleeping.
I can’t get a
handle on people who don’t read at all, when it’s about the cheapest and most
effective form of escapism you can get. I enjoy both fiction and non-fiction,
but find the latter the more relaxing of the two. I’ll often alternate
between them - I last read Robert Webb’s ‘How Not to Be a Boy’, which I really liked - but do love a good novel; I’m particularly fond
of thrillers: Robert Harris is always a good call. This is the fourth Grisham
book I’ve happened upon, having previously read ‘The Client’, ‘The Firm’ and
‘Runaway Jury’ - and second to 'The Client', the current one is perhaps the
most gripping.
I wonder if I’ll
ever write a novel myself? I like the idea, but think I’m naturally more
adept at writing non-fiction - my blog or stand-up being a case in point - or
in script form, which I’ve done a many times before, most notably with Glyn. I
don’t know if I’d be able to sustain a story for so long, or keep it moving
apace. Maybe one of these days, I’ll give it a go; if I copied out Keith
Richards’ ‘Life’, substituting his name for mine and Jagger's with my cat, would anyone notice?