Freestyle Week 1

I am currently reading a few things. One is a historical romance that is almost too silly for words, and yet (sigh) I love it. Don't worry, I won't talk about that.

What I will discuss is Craig Ferguson's autobiography, American on Purpose. I have been a fan of his for awhile, first noticing him on The Drew Carey Show and then later watching the Late Late Show more for his stand-up than the celebrity guests. He's an interesting guy with an interesting past, dealing with a rough childhood, growing up in Scotland and then dealing with more than a decade of drug and alcohol abuse, getting sober and then immigrating to the U.S., finally becoming a citizen in his 40s. That's more than I will ever do.

His book details all of this, some of which I've heard through his various stand-up specials and on his show, some of which is new and interesting. I'm only a few chapters in, however, because of my little handicap.

I can only read a little at a time before becoming hopelessly depressed. I learned this weird thing about me about 5 years ago: I get depressed when reading certain things. I was reading the Nanny Diaries, which took me about a week or so to slog my way through and, near the end of it, I found myself increasingly down in the dumps. I couldn't figure out what the problem was until I finished the book. Suddenly the world became a better place! Birds were singing again, food tasted better, flowers smelled sweeter. All because I was done reading a book that brought me down.

Inspirational romance, true crime, and chick-lit all do this. I can read Stephen King until my eyes bleed (which happens to his characters a lot!) but Bridget Jones' Diary makes me sad. Weird, right? Also, I am a very happy, bright person, joking around all the time, but when I try to write something funny, it never works out. For example, I needed to write a very simple scene in my book. It was a high school baseball game, very light and carefree and I ended up having to re-write it because my first attempt went dark so fast it made my head spin. I took a sunny day at a baseball diamond and threw in rape, suicide and attempted murder! What's wrong with me?

Just one of those things my mother doesn't understand. I don't, either, really, but I accept it and now know to read things that depress me in small doses. So, I will finish my historical romance later today, but Craig Ferguson might take a few . . . uh, months, probably.

Now, that's depressing!