My love for writing comes from a deeper love of reading.
Some of my earliest reading memories include my father reading to my sister and me from books from the The Weekly Reader Children's Book Club that came regularly to our house, the thrill of bringing home a book I could read by myself from the St. Bernard School library, and falling asleep in the middle of Josephine Scribner Bates' The Story of the Live Dolls, one of my favorites that I insisted a babysitter read to me.
I read cereal boxes when I ate breakfast. I spent many hours stretched across the house reading, and I took books to bed with me. My kids grew up doing the same.
In fact, when my teens went through an especially rebellious period, their stepfather grounded them to their rooms, which they did not mind because they could read. So the next time, he grounded them from the library. Oh, the outcry!
Reading for pleasure dropped off a bit in college (although not completely) due to all the reading I did for assignments, especially since I was enrolled in an accelerated program.
But it picked back up when I was expecting my first child, continued through my two decades of homeschooling, and never dropped off again (although, again, not completely) until I began my first novel over ten years ago.
Now that the intense phase of writing the BryonySeries is done (the timing couldn't be better as I've entered a more intense phase at work), I can concentrate on less immersive writing projects (such as the two spin-off children's series) and again sink into reading.
This past Saturday, and eventually this weekend, was extremely busy with work, the monthly Gothic Book Club, and a few unexpected life things.
None of this was true Saturday morning, when I soaked up silence and serenity with dark roast coffee and a good book. Everyone except Timothy had left for work, who was also in his own room reading.
I don't understand literacy or other such programs designed to foster love of reading or encourage people to read. On the other hand, people who love, say golf or baseball, probably don't understand my "meh" attitude to both.
Reading is, and forever will be, one of the greatest pleasures in my life. I approach my writing more as a reader and less as a writer. Getting lose in a story as a writer is the same as getting lost in a story as a reader. I write so others can enjoy the stories, but so that I, as a reader, can also enjoy the stories.
It's a blessing I write for a living, and I have stories clamoring to be written. Otherwise, I could easily never write again in favor of the easier benefits of luxuriating in someone else's words.
This post probably makes no sense at all.
Unless you're a reader or a writer.
Some of my earliest reading memories include my father reading to my sister and me from books from the The Weekly Reader Children's Book Club that came regularly to our house, the thrill of bringing home a book I could read by myself from the St. Bernard School library, and falling asleep in the middle of Josephine Scribner Bates' The Story of the Live Dolls, one of my favorites that I insisted a babysitter read to me.
I read cereal boxes when I ate breakfast. I spent many hours stretched across the house reading, and I took books to bed with me. My kids grew up doing the same.
In fact, when my teens went through an especially rebellious period, their stepfather grounded them to their rooms, which they did not mind because they could read. So the next time, he grounded them from the library. Oh, the outcry!
Reading for pleasure dropped off a bit in college (although not completely) due to all the reading I did for assignments, especially since I was enrolled in an accelerated program.
But it picked back up when I was expecting my first child, continued through my two decades of homeschooling, and never dropped off again (although, again, not completely) until I began my first novel over ten years ago.
Now that the intense phase of writing the BryonySeries is done (the timing couldn't be better as I've entered a more intense phase at work), I can concentrate on less immersive writing projects (such as the two spin-off children's series) and again sink into reading.
This past Saturday, and eventually this weekend, was extremely busy with work, the monthly Gothic Book Club, and a few unexpected life things.
None of this was true Saturday morning, when I soaked up silence and serenity with dark roast coffee and a good book. Everyone except Timothy had left for work, who was also in his own room reading.
I don't understand literacy or other such programs designed to foster love of reading or encourage people to read. On the other hand, people who love, say golf or baseball, probably don't understand my "meh" attitude to both.
Reading is, and forever will be, one of the greatest pleasures in my life. I approach my writing more as a reader and less as a writer. Getting lose in a story as a writer is the same as getting lost in a story as a reader. I write so others can enjoy the stories, but so that I, as a reader, can also enjoy the stories.
It's a blessing I write for a living, and I have stories clamoring to be written. Otherwise, I could easily never write again in favor of the easier benefits of luxuriating in someone else's words.
This post probably makes no sense at all.
Unless you're a reader or a writer.
No comments:
Post a Comment