I’ve alway been a voracious reader, devouring book upon book, even at a young age. I grew up on Wind in the Willows, Charlotte’s Web, Mary Poppins, Cheaper by the Dozen, National Velvet, Black Beauty, Misty of Chincoteague (do we see a trend here?) as well as all the Bobbsey Twins and Trixie Beldon books. In high school it was 1984, Animal Farm, Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead.
As life, work and family intervened, I had little time to read for enjoyment and little money to spend on books. I moved a lot and, unfortunately, didn’t take time to join local libraries. But when I could, I got books at yard sales and discount stores. I quickly learned to buy only thick, LONG books. Why? I could read a normal length paperback in a couple of hours. That got expensive!
I never envisioned myself as a fiction writer. Non-fiction, yes. I’ve written for work for many years. Consulting gigs, special reports, technical directions. I even wrote web content in the last 1990’s and early 2000’s for several online companies.
But fiction? Me? I have no imagination….
So now that I am writing fiction, I rarely read. Partly due to time but mostly because I’m afraid I will carry over another writer’s voice, or style, or words, or phrases….
Yes, I worry so I don’t read….
Sad…
