More Reading Than Writing

This last week has been a fairly good week. I’ve had the opportunity to sit down and actually do some reading, which seems to be a rarer thing these days. A cursory glance at the books that I’ve read recently will show that I’ve been reading well and truly outside the erotica genre. What that’s meant is that the books haven’t provided much by way of inspiration for my writing. They’ve been a good escape, but they haven’t really been prodding the fires of desire to sit down and write more words.

I’ve now reached onto a shelf that, until now, has remained unread and out of reach. They are books that I’ve always meant to sit down and read, it’s just that I hadn’t really taken the opportunity to do so until now.

Okay, that’s a little bit of a lie. I have had the opportunity, I just kept making excuses about when I was going to start reading them. Given that they’re completely in-genre, even if they’re not quite what people think of, they should have been what I reached for first when having writer’s block or things of that nature. It always seemed that, at that time, staying in-genre was the last thing I wanted to do.

I’m only a dozen pages into two different books and I’ve already found some sparkling language which has launched visions of many stories, lighting paths that were dark before. That was surprising, but not as much as the way some of these books unfold.

Words are calling to me, even if I can’t take such big bites with these books as I’m used to when reading.