Reading Books

Day 83…

There was a time not so long ago that I couldn’t read.  I’d pick up a recommended book, begin the first pages, become overwhelmed and put it down.  What was this?  I had been a reader all my life.  I loved books; they had always been my friends.  And yet, now they were only making me anxious.  

I backed off.  Write for a while, Natalie Goldberg suggested.  Maybe I was too full of my own story.  So writing helped me empty obsolete experiences, non-productive habits, and resentments I was mindlessly clinging to. 

When I couldn’t read I was relating to others’ stories, but it was my own story that overwhelmed me.  My experiences, my habits and my resentments needed some attention.  Through morning pages, timed writings, writing buddies, and workshops with experienced writers, I have, slowly and with deliberation, been able to more clearly know myself.

I am reading again, as much as I can.  Now I find comfort in being able to identify myself so easily in other people’s stories.     

Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.  ~E.L. Doctorow

Books let us into their souls and lay open to us the secrets of our own.  ~William Hazlitt

Writing topics:  The books I read

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2 responses to this post.

  1. I can so relate to this! Thanks for posting. 🙂

    Reply

  2. That’s interesting!

    Reply

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