I have a voracious appetite for reading and could speed read for Ireland. I’ll read anytime, anywhere; at mealtimes, social gatherings or while navigating busy pavements. I’ll read in planes, trains and automobiles, even though the latter inevitably leaves me miserable with motion sickness. (I reckon it’s worth it though.)
If I don’t have a book with me I’ll obsessively read anything at hand including advertisements, cereal boxes, or over strangers’ shoulders. I like to think I have good taste in novels but I have a very high tolerance for crap too, so I’ll read pulp fiction, Mills and Boon and truly awful science fiction at a pinch. Yep, I’m a reading junkie.
Until I started writing my novel that is. Since then I’ve completely lost my appetite for reading. Even picking up a book feels a little strange and alien to me. I've always found reading to be a comforting and familiar place to retreat to, regardless of what was going on in my life. But yesterday I realised that I hadn’t read a book in three months. It’s not like I haven’t tried, but books and I don’t seem to fit anymore.
Maybe I’m afraid of becoming influenced by another writer and copying their style. I feel like I’ve developed a style of my own and I don’t want to dilute it. Or maybe because I’m writing full time the magic of literature has lifted temporarily, so instead of getting caught up in the fantasy I can only see the smoke and mirrors.
I’m not too worried as I’m sure it’s just a minor blip. I certainly hope it is, otherwise all the sweat and tears we put into assembling the massive bookshelf in our bedroom was for nothing. And that means Ikea would finally break my spirit.
