I’m reading too many things right now.
How is that even possible? Well, since I took on the task of transforming myself into a real writer (look Geppetto, no strings!) earlier this year, my reading list has exploded. We’re talking from a kid with the sniffles in some backwater place to global pandemic levels.
I’ve always been a habitual reader. My parents did that. On long road trips, we’d read road signs. Sometimes for fun, sometimes for actual navigational purposes, but usually it was to keep my twin sister and I from being left on the side of the road by my father. He always drove long trips clenching the wheel like he was racing a bobsled. As a parent of a former young child, I can see why – and I didn’t have the force multiplier to contend with.
Lately though, I keep meeting fascinating and interesting people, all of which also love to read. Most have suggested books, and many I’ve eagerly added to my list. The list is a combination of things both real and ephemeral – sometimes I write it down on a scrap of paper. Said scrap is then misplaced, used for something else, or found in a tight little ball covered in dryer lint. Other times, I assign it to the space inside my head which sends it off to either never be recovered, or to jackhammer by frontal lobe weeks later when I’m in a bookstore or library or within the range of that intoxicating pulp and binding aroma.
Right now I’m reading: Ventus, by Karl Schroeder; The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, by Haruki Murakami (I swear, Ben, I’m almost done…); Puttering About in a Small Land,by Philip K. Dick and The Famous Short Stories of H.G. Wells. I’m also about to pick up a new one having gotten a shiny Barnes and Noble giftcard for my birthday. This, along with a slew of short stories and pubs that hit my Inbox on a daily basis, some trade pubs, blogs, and who knows what else.
I know, this list may pale in comparison to some. However, it isn’t my standard M.O. I’m usually all about diving into a piece and not surfacing until I’m done. This may have something to do with the blogging, the tweeting, the facebooking, etc. I’ve been splitting my attention about ten different ways or more on a regular basis. I should probably see someone about that. Social Media therapist maybe?
At some point, I need to get past my kid in a candy store fixation with all the shiny new titles my growing circle of writing friends recommends. For now though, keep the suggestions coming. The list, as flaky as it can be at times, can never get too long!