When the writer becomes the reader (or why I try to eat the books I love)

I was talking with a fellow writer this week who was telling me that when she’s writing, she prefers to shut herself off from reading altogether because she doesn’t want to be influenced by others’ work. That kind of stopped me in my tracks, to be honest. Not because I don’t understand what she means, but because I do understand. I used to be the same way. I worried that if I read too much of others’ writing, I’d lose my own voice, my personal style, and just become a little mirror of them.

It’s only been in the past few years that I’ve realized how limiting that is. And not only is it limiting, it’s a giant mistake. At least for me it is. I can’t believe I was ever so egotistical that I’d turn away from others’ writing because I didn’t want it to influence me. Now THAT, my friends, is a giant ego. Fortunately, I landed on my big fat head enough that I finally realized there are some things I can still learn about writing. And who better to learn my craft from than some of the best writers in the world? Stephen King once said “You cannot hope to sweep someone else away by the force of your writing until it has been done to you.” That’s exactly what I mean.

As I tried to explain to my friend, now when I’m reading the writers I most admire, I treat it as though I were sitting in a class they’re teaching. Or better yet, that the two of us are in a tiny, out-of-the-way bar in New York, discussing our craft over a bottle of wine. When I approach the work of writers I admire with that mindset, it changes the way I take it in. There are plenty of writers out there right now I’m competing with, and that’s because right now, we’re equals. We write the same kinds of books, we’re attempting to sell to the same readers. But if you heard my podcast this week, you know I’m moving my gaze up a bit. It’s like the expression “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have.” I’m reading the writers I want to compete with. The writers I’d be honored to compete with. The writers who set the bar far higher for me than I’ve ever set for myself.

There are three contemporary writers with whom I am completely obsessed at the moment: Philip Roth (as longtime readers of this site know all too well), John Updike, and Jonathan Franzen. These three are my Muses, the Holy Trinity – if you will – of my personal library. When I read anything by any of those three, I come away richer, a little better at my own writing, and drenched by a new wave of appreciation for the beauty of being a writer at all.

I don’t just read books by these writers anymore, I absorb them. I live them. I sleep with them under my pillow. I sleep with them as my pillow. I take them to the table. I take them into the bath. I carry them with me. I wallow in them. I hug them to me and bite the pages and roll around on the carpet with them until the covers are bent. With all due respect to my friend, some of the most gifted writers of my lifetime have made their work accessible to me, and I’m going to access the hell out of it.

I went out and purchased three blank, bound books and labeled each one with the name of one of these writers. Now when I’m reading one of their books and I come across a passage that makes me stop, put the book down, drop my face into my hands and mutter “He has the same 26 letters at his disposal as I do – why didn’t I WRITE THAT?!” I now grab a pen and copy it into their notebook. When I need inspiration, when I’m having one of those days where I’m dithering around in my writing room questioning my ability to write anything more profound than a greeting card, I pull out one of those notebooks and reread the words that lifted me beyond my own abilities and showed me what’s possible. Reading the work of writers I admire doesn’t take away my personal style. It doesn’t threaten my voice. It ignites me, excites me. It not only helps me find my own voice, it hands me a microphone.