#readerproblems

It is a fairly frequent refrain, and generally agreed upon, that to be a writer you have to be a reader. I agree with this wholeheartedly. I grew up inside books; books saved me; books made me start writing. Since finishing university and starting this novelling lark seriously, though, my reading habits have diminished. Partly it's due to my library being across the ocean, partly it's because all the time I spend reading is time I could've been writing. It's no secret that I started writing because I was dissatisfied with the books at my fingertips, and the same is still generally true now. Mostly I reread my favourite, the ones that made the cut and were granted a place in my suitcase, but I yearn for that unique buzz that comes from a reeaally good book. 

And I found it again, three days ago, but my god! Does it come at a price!

I'm not going to talk about the book in question too much right now (I'm still digesting) but I want to talk about the struggle between reading and writing.

This book, or this series, is everything I've been looking for, and it's filled me up to the point where I can't see anything else. I've just (ten minutes ago) finshed the second and I just want to cry and laugh and explode! How can the world keep going as it was after this? How can I go on as I did before I read it? Most of all, how can I possibly even think about going back to my own still story after this? I am paralyzed and caught fast, and I don't know what to do with myself. 

And it's so wonderful.

It feels like a new Harry Potter book. You know, that feeling. 

But I hate it, too. I wish I'd never found it or read it. I wish it didn't exist because dammit! I was happy before it and now I'm stuck! There is no room inside of me for my own world and my own characters, this book has overcome all of that.

So I understand why so often writers say they cannot do both at the same time, especially if they are like me and have a tragic inability to multitask. I only have room inside me for one world at a time, and the only productive one is my own. 

But.

There is nothing better than this feeling, this one right here. 

This is what I live for, what I read for, and what I write for. 

But dammit it's annoying!!

Ugh.

#readerproblems

I think it's going to be a matter of letting it marinate. You know, when you finish writing a book and you've just got to let it sit? That. Then I can see it objectively, and learn the lessons I want to learn from it (because right now all I want to do is write that book!) 

Most of all, I mustn't buy the third (and final *cry*) book until I've finished this scene.

I must not.

....

Oh dear.