Catching up after Christmas and doing another round of edits on my book didn’t leave much time for reading in January. In fact, I only read two books. I can’t remember the last time that’s happened. I tend to average 4-5 books per month. I have for years and years. Yet here am I with February half-gone and I have yet to close a back cover and wish the story hadn’t ended.
It’s a hard thing, I’m learning, to balance the reading and the writing. I love to read. I hate not to read. And yet there are only so many hours in a day. And this coming from one who always reads at least a chapter before bed and carries a book with me at all times for those “unexpected” free moments! My “to read” stacks are growing higher, even as I’m longing to re-read some old favorites. How did I get in this mess?
Oh, yeah. I wanted to write. Isn’t every dream a double-edged sword? And here is mine. Maybe I need to talk my husband into a beach vacation this summer, even though neither of us cares for the beach. At least it would be time with nothing to do but read. Unless, of course, we found a historical site to visit.
On second thought, maybe a research trip would be as fun as a reading one!