Unexpected Results

I’ve entered into a predicament I hadn’t excepted to face. Now that I’m a writer (gong sounds at the word) I find myself unable to read certain books.  No, I don’t mean I’ve become a society snob who only reads the finest literature in all the greatest social circles. Hardly. I actually have found I can’t read some books that I want to read right now. So why do I feel this way?

I’ll end up stealing from those books.

I’ll lift whole chunks of ideas and drop them in the story I’m writing, all while commending myself for creative brilliance. You see, I’m writing a Viking story. Unfortunately, due to the evil influence of Goodreads and Librarything, I’m discovering all sorts of awesome Viking stories out there.  But I know if I read these books while I’m trying to write a similar book, I’ll end up being imitative.

Even worse than imitation, reading others writers “doing my thing” will make me feel inadequate. I’ll end up thinking my characters weren’t as bad-ass as Harald Asskicker and Knut Smashteeth. I’ll undoubtedly uncover some point of history I got wrong, or some detail of the period I missed or screwed up.

It will all end up like going to the bar with your super-fit colleague from Marketing who meets all the eligibles in the place while you stumble about with your drink and try to act hip.

I do realize that imitation is unavoidable in this business, in any business actually. I know all the historical fiction studs like Cornwell and Scarrow and Pressfield have imitated others they admired. It’s all unconscious, and it’s the filtering of others’ ideas through their unique perspectives that make their stories new again. The same is true for me.

But in my case, I’d rather avoid a direct opportunity to be influenced while I’m writing. And to feel inadequate. So I guess I’ll read a quiet Regency romance while I finish up this series. No chance of being influenced unduly by that. Ugh.