Some popular and widely accepted advice for writers is to not only write regularly but to read regularly too, to keep one’s creative juices recharged.
I think it’s very good advice, but I’ve had trouble putting it into practice lately. Coming home from work, I find myself trying to squeeze in time to write on a work-in-progress, time to write blog posts, time to network with reviewers and other writers, time to do enough housework to prevent my house from being quarantined by the CDC…
So when to fit in reading for pleasure?
Maybe I can work it in around eating and sleeping. So if I check my schedule, so far my best option looks like…
Hmm. The slot between the hours of 2 and 3 AM.
(And my exercise program went out the window AGES ago, but in fairness, I think that’s got more to do with me having a strong aversion to physical exertion of any kind than with me having a full schedule.)
In the meantime, the only fiction I’ve been reading lately is the picture books that I read to my kindergarten class, and while I love Dr. Seuss, I’m afraid it’s having a detrimental effect on my writing. Check out this recent excerpt and see if you agree:
As they gazed into each other’s eyes, Lianna couldn’t help but wonder…
Would he kiss her in the car?
Would they kiss under a star?
Would they, could they, make this work?
Or could he, would he, be a jerk?
Would she spend more sleepless nights
Drowning sorrows in chocolate bites;
Or would at last her dreams come true:
Washboard abs and nice pecs, too…
I fear Seuss is shining through. And you do NOT want to see the scene I wrote after reading Mother Goose. Trust me.