I love books. Reading is a core function of life, right up there with eating and breathing. In fact, I really can't remember a time in my life when I wasn't reading. One of the 'squee' moments in becoming agented, and in seeing myself as a "Writer", was that reading became part of my job.
I had a mandate to read.
I could justify trips to the local bookstore and the library. I didn't have to feel guilty for reading and re-reading a particular book, since it was now research, or craft-building.
But reading can also be a deadly time-suck.
I made the mistake of finishing a big scene in the WIP yesterday, leaving me at a crossroads, plot-wise. So rather than open the file and attach fingers to keyboard, I cracked open a new book.
My to-do list for today did not have 'read the first in The Weather Wardens series'. No. It had a lot of important, if mundane things that needed to be completed. As well as my daily wordcount goal. (Goal: 1,000 words. actual: 0 words)
So I reluctantly closed the book, stuck in a bookmark, and am getting ready to head out the door to do the 'must-do' errands. Then it's going to be writing time. In fact, the only reading I should let myself do over the next several days is the crit pages I need to finish for my writing group sunday evening.
But honestly, what I really want to do is curl up on the sofa with the puppy and read this new book cover to cover. Must. . . resist. . .
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