Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Dangerously Close to Wanting Nothing
This past weekend I sat and stared at trees - giant poplars and evergreens swaying in the breeze like the ebb and flow of ocean waves. I didn't want to write, or read or do anything. I forget how refreshing it is to do nothing.
Most people see me reading and think I'm relaxing. I am to a certain point, but for me, as it should be with all writers, reading is work. I cannot simply shut my mind off, I'm constantly analyzing the story. How well does the author develop the plot? Do I care about these characters? How is the writing? I know there are literary junk food novels out there, but since most of them are incredibly bad, I can't enjoy them. It's the same way with movies. I think this is the price writers pay. In order to develop as the best writer he/she can be, they give up some of that escape reading used to give them. That doesn't necessarily mean I don't enjoy what I read, or unable to lose myself to a certain extent; it just means that the experience is no longer a total and complete recess of the mind.
Right now I'm planning on taking a drive down to Acadia National Park. I love it down there. I just want to watch the ocean and enjoy nature. The only hectic thing will be chasing a three-year-old around, which can be extremely tiring; but it will be worth it.