At 4pm I realized I still had some time to kill in the work day, and no one would really notice if I went up to the book floors. So up I went armed with only a call number of a book that was by an author that I thought might be interesting. Seriously! I was ordering books today, saw something that looked vaguely enticing, and then checked to see if we had other books by the same author and off I went.
So if you have a Library of Congress library, then I'll tell you I went up to the PS3552... section, poetry basically I guess. I found a book I was looking for, but not another one that I had on my short list. Then I randomly started picking up books based on their title or author. Wendell Barry was there, someone whose first name was Becky, and others. I skimmed through them a bit, and then brought them down to my desk. They are in a pile now. I probably won't check them out until tomorrow. We'll see. I know I will raise eyebrows from my husband if I go home with a dozen books today. So I'll skim through them some more and narrow down the pile a bit tomorrow.
Anyway, reading inspires me. If these writings are considered "good" and "publishable" then I guess the drivel I write isn't so bad. I just need to get off the pot and start doing it. Or something like that.
I am a writer, I need to write, and stop thinking about how I will write LATER, someday, etc. I need to do it NOW.
So I will read, and I will write... right after the kid has her birthday and the taxes get done. Or maybe I will write tonight.
