There’s a magic to reading. When words carry you through a bad day into a land of wonder, where you leave your cares at page one. When a book is magical, you don’t worry about time, making dinner, caring for children, husbands, wives, significant others. You just read.
I have spent hours not cleaning my house, not cooking meals, or being five minutes late to a child’s soccer practice because I had to finish the chapter I was reading.
I’ve been known to hole up in the most creative places with a book. The bathroom (a popular favorite, because it ensures one should not be bothered there), the porch, once the garage—because I was called out side by my ex with a book in hand, and I stood there reading and couldn’t stop— the park, on the floor beside my bed, the bed… you name it. I’ve had a book in hand that I couldn’t put down.
Now I’m writing with crazy deadlines, battling time, and I miss the magic. Because if I’m reading, I’m not writing. And when I write, I have a tendency to absorb everything around me. I’m also a mood writer, so if I’m reading a sad book, I’ll write a sad book. Not good when I’m throwing gods, sex, and adventure together in a story. Adventure stories are usually peppy, not downers.
But I miss my reading time. So I’m actually looking forward to the summer when I’ll be visiting family all over the place. On that plane, I’ll get to read without interruption. Well, until one of my kids has to go to the bathroom.But I'm sure I can wave vaguely down the aisle of the plane and not let it interrupt me.
Don't miss Love In Electric Blue, coming to Samhain June 4th