Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Fine Days

I have staggered up from the tangled top of my bed to write this post. I am not sick, but this is the last day of my 'weekend' (nonconformist dayjob schedules do terrible things to basic ideas like 'weekdays' and 'weekends') and I have to return to a normal sleep schedule to prepare for the work week. I realized in the middle of a dream--one of those strange scenes that feels less like switching from one state of consciousness to the next, and more like slipping into another room during play rehearsal--that I hadn't posted yet. There will probably come a day when I fail to do a daily blog, but I am determined to make it at least a solid seven days before that occurs.

Blah blah blah, on to the topic at hand.

The weekend was grand. I walked a lot. I listened to oodles of music (Beatles, Lumineers, Alela Diane, Led Zep). I started to draw something--a gift for a friend--and sort of gave up on it because my computer is turning into a hacking old woman who can't handle too much excitement. iTunes no longer works for this very reason. Insta-shut-down, every time.

But the weather was too lovely to spend my two days off in front of a screen, anyway. Today, outside of laundry and sandwich preparation, I did nothing but something I haven't done in far too long: I settled on my bed, next to the wide-open windows that were positively bursting with sunlight, and I read a book*.

It is a simple activity, one that negates all outside matters. Delving into someone else's world, allowing them to take you by the arm and lead you through matters completely beyond your control. Losing sense of where you are, until it seems you have been drawn out of your physical form entirely, all of the bits that make you *you* spilling out into the pages at hand.

I'm embarrassed to say it's been over a year since I last enjoyed a book** so much. I could argue that I've been busy working on my own, and I don't particularly like to read other works when I'm writing, because it messes with my character's voices, and the way they appear on the page. But I think it's more than that. Partly, I turned myself into an insufferable book snob. I spoiled myself, reading only THE BEST writers and THE BEST works they had to offer. I shifted my reading brain into an overly critical beast that curled its lip at every silly little flaw, with a whisper of, 'This could be so much better.'

Which is, on several levels, incredibly stupid. I've always loved reading. I've always loved adventure stories. I want to offer the joy I've felt in reading others' works to new readers, by sharing some of my own stories. Turning any part of that into a chore--turning reading into research--will do as much to advance my writing career as if I simply stopped writing.

So, as well as doing this daily blogamajig, I'm going to make a concerted effort to read more. A book a week, at the very least. My library is big enough and full enough of unread material that I should be able to keep going for a while. I've canceled my Netflix account to help me along. It will be an exciting day when I can say I've actually read all of the books in my library!

Now, I'm going back to bed. I hope you'll forgive me for any word wibble-wobbles. I'm still pretty nodded-off.

Take care!


*Ransom Riggs, Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children

**Veronica Roth, Divergent

No comments:

Post a Comment