Writing Process Affects Writer’s Ability to Read Novels

I used to read books in their full work. Now, I read like some high school student who hates to read, the liner notes, the copyright, the index, the preface, the introduction, and the dedication, for about a half hour, makes or keys in a few entry cards, and then goes back to work on something. If you are the sort of individual who is found in a bookstore, scanning a book every half-hour between cups of coffee, we have something in common.

We used to read. Reading used to be fun. What happened, how it happened and why it did is something for another piece. Who it happened to is not that important – could be any one of a number of struggling writers.

My favorite novel, I haven’t had the time to read a novel in its entirety, there’ve been too many mentors, agents, and other dependents, all clawing for their nag, digging for their bit, making their overt or covert demands. I imagine that if I was paid to read a novel, and turn it into a screenplay, spending weeks going through the pages and writing notes about it, obsessing over every detail of it would be something that would be done. The key here is that both time and money are now short, the days of sitting poolside or anywhere leisurely reading a book for two or three hours per day are long gone.

Somehow, somewhere, I have lost that middle ground of pleasant every day reading for enjoyment, which I am, unfortunately, no longer very good at doing, even when I have the time to look over a short story or novella. My brain is too busy scrambling for its own ideas, its own writings, its own creations to feed the maw of the union and its host of upline recognized writing masters, who in turn get the entertainers off the assembly line of retail storefronts.

Example of overt demand – email, stating simply, “Stop reading self-improvement books. Stop this quest for self-improvement. Stick to children, cooking and church, instead – it’s for your own good. Jack” This is something that in a way, did succeed, however, in another way, backfired – I no longer have the time to read even a good children’s novel, let alone a novel meant for adults, or Christian novels, or stories about Christian interaction.

Being pressed for time and money, I’ve been reading books about how to write for children, cookbooks, and studying the Bible instead – sticking to practical, essential readings only.

What’s an example of covert demands – these are much more frequent – when an acquaintance flags an article because they want something else from my time, or to go back to write for their blog portal, for one. This, I’ve done, and have now exhausted the expansionality of what I can do for their chain of blogs. I’m not going to get readership from their audience, and I’m now going to be flagged by competing writers at their portal for

Sure, I look in the bookstore, and stare at the titles by authors like Ursula LeGuinn, Jeffery Deaver, Tom Clancy, Jean M. Auel, J.K. Rowling, Edgar Allen Poe, Agatha Christie, and others – sometimes, with a great deal of longing. Maybe, hopefully, someday, I will be able to enjoy the luxury of reading one of these for more than a quick scan again. Being able to read a novel, whether cover-to-cover, or chapter-by-chapter, is a luxury that I miss.

This is the truth. The truth is not a best-seller.