So, three weeks ago, I went to the library and borrowed some books. I had to renew my library card and pay a fee of $.75. That was all.
I went there after my first iron treatment and by the following week–the second Friday–I couldn’t even think to read.
I thought reading would help me during my second iron treatment, but it didn’t. I was still freaked out. I freak when I see air bubbles.
OK, so I decided maybe I needed a push to read a book. I found an audio book, and downloaded it.
I thought it was going to be a supernatural book, but it was just horror. I read Faces of Fear by John Saul.
It was a good book, but I noticed some flaws in it. Like if the girl was 15, how was she still 15 a year later? Also, what happened to the dog?
Little things like that.
Then I realized only a writer would notice subtle things like that, not the reader that doesn’t write.
Have I been too critical of my work?
Instead of reading, I should be writing. But my confidence is shaken.
I’m reading to learn how to write stories, i.e., plots. I was reading something on Pinterest. I wrote it down in my notebook. And I swear as soon as I knock down the recordings on my DVR and finish the other books, I will get to writing.
No more excuses.
Now, where’s a hypnotist when I need one.
I better go to bed before I turn into a scarecrow.