Not sure how much more I'm going to write today, but I figured I'd go ahead and blog about what's on my mind. It's an exciting time for creation, as my plot arc comes gliding smoothly up toward the climax of the story. Still, it's getting late, and though I didn't write as much today as I usually do on weekends, it's been a good day.
I went to the bookstore today. That place, to me, is Nerdvana, for srs. I love moving up and down the aisles of books, looking at all of them. The reading different when you write also applies to being in a bookstore when you write, by the way...now I spend much more time than I ever did before in other sections, opening books and reading the jackets and the first chapters, wondering who, if anyone, was buying them.
Got lost in the fantasy/sci fi section, though, and in so doing came to a major realization...a blinding flash of the obvious, if you will. I went through and bought a lot of books because they were by great writers, because Stephen King said I needed to read more. What he didn't say, though, was that I needed to torture myself by reading crap I'm not interested in. Let's face it...there are genres that just don't interest me. CSI/mystery is one of them, which is probably why I had such a hard time with the Scarpetta novel (well, that, and a female reader doing a male voice in a husky cartoony type voice). The good news is that I bought all the books pretty cheap and can probably, in turn, sell them fairly cheaply as well. But I'm not going to waste my time reading stuff that is GREAT fiction but not my cup of tea.
Word count: 63,227 (and counting)
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