Books Are Funny Things . . .

The following contains spoilers for a few books. The Hunger Games and Extras mostly. I think that's it.

There is something about some novels that is unexplainably influential sometimes. Maybe being a writer myself I get into a novel a lot more than is prudent. Maybe because I tend to be an emotional person with a massive imagination that I recreate things to become strangely realer than real to myself in a way other people don't. But this is getting too hypothetical.
I dunno. I don't understand it. Most people read the Hunger Games and seem to emerge emotionally unscathed. It kinda mystifies me. I mean, tons of wonderful innocent people died in that book, Katniss is left a depressed half crazy shell of a person. If I had bought the book instead of having borrowed it from the library, I would have torn it to shreds. I was angry, I was sad. I couldn't reconcile what happened in that book. It wasn't okay, it was deeply painful to me. That book made me cry. Call me a sissy or whatever but I'm not sure that's something I ought to be ashamed of. When I read fictional books about bad things happening to good people, sure I know it's not real, but I also know that things like that have happened to real people... Are still happening to real people all the time. Kinda makes me have grief panic over people I've never even heard of sometimes. I know, crazy right? I'm not sure if I, being so lucky with my lot in life, in respect for those people who are so vastly unfortunate, if I ought to be happy all the time in thankfulness for all I have, and it'd be obnoxious of me to be sad when I have so little to be sad about compared to them, or if I ought to be sad, because it's idiotically selfish of me to be happy when they're suffering. Or is it a mixture if both? Neither? Bah, first world problems, haha.
Do other people think like this? Some of you have thought something along these lines probably. But I feel like a lot of Americans are so used to the violence and drugs and such in the Hunger Games that it doesn't even penetrate anymore. That's kinda a disturbing thought by itself. Mm.
Any hen yi hao. My second books are weird example... I'm reading Extras right now. Eh, only a bit more than halfway through. I don't know if you've read it, but the people are fame obsessed. Freaking heck, they're in a position where they could save or end the world and they're thinking about how best to post video footage on their feeds (similar to Facebook walls) to gain popularity! Really people? I know they aren't really real people but I've met people who might act like that on that situation. It's kinda sickening.
But once again, am I taking a book way too seriously? I dunno. Now I feel guilty every time I look at who liked my Facebook status, who commented something nice on my new profile picture, when I check out how many views my blog has and from how many countries. I feel like a fame obsessed idiot myself when I think about how I've posted stuff at the hours I know the most people are on instead of just.. whenever. Honestly, why do I have a Facebook, twitter, blogger, google +, and Pinterest? Why do I share my blog on three social media sites to bring in viewers? To some degree I feel a responsibility to my interviewees to make sure their stuff is read. But do they bring my blog more fame than my blog gives them? Probably. Was I thinking about that when I planned interviews? The fame they might get me? I didn't think of it that way at the time, but could it have been my underlying reason that I didn't even admit to myself? Even now I have to fight to keep my mind from wandering to thoughts of who might read this.
It shouldn't matter if no one reads this, should it? Does it lose significance if I write it in a journal than burn it before a human eye other than my own rests on it? Is it better that way? Or do written words need readers to have purpose?
Now it's self-response time. Gunna answer my own questions, whee!
I think anything anyone ever writes matters. Whether or not other humans read it. I think all our thoughts are precious. Right or wrong, it's an incredible thing you do constantly, thinking. Rocks can't do it, planes can't do it, pillows can't, plants can't, nor balloons, or paint or stairs or mushroom. And guess what? No other person thinks the way you do either. You are uniquely and wonderfully made. So what you think matters.
And some thoughts are better kept between you and God. I won't go into specifics of what. You fill in the blank.
But some thoughts should be released into the world. Maybe someone out there can benefit from them. Words can change things for the better if used with caution. Just think of the declaration of independance and the Bible. How about how Dickens brought notice to suffering in his world? i bet some real life sufferers got some compassion and aid because of the influence if his work And that's really awesome. So write on me mateys! Sorry for the immense seriousness and rambling ambling. Hope you're having a good.. Morning. It's morning now technically. Gosh I can rant a good long time. Guten morgen!