Writers read too…

Well, some of us do…

On the third round edit of my current work in progress, I stalled out about half way through, I’d read it so many times, I couldn’t remember if my character really DID buy a new car, or just needed one. I needed to figure it out. But I needed to know before I flipped through three hundred and twenty-seven pages again. I closed the book and set it aside.

I’d been working so long it had gone dark since I started.

I gazed out the window and watched the lights of the city flicker and fade in the fog. Rain drops splattered against the window and I closed my eyes.

Morning came with the delicious sound of rain still pelting the windows, thunder rolling occasionally and random flashes of lightning splintering the skies. There would be no visible sunrise in this sea of dark and heavy clouds.

I reached for a book, one of the many that littered my night stand and opened it to a center page. I started reading. It didn’t matter where. I just needed to interrupt the constant story that I’d been reading for days.

I pulled the blanket up close and cuddled into my pillows, my book was just interesting enough to keep me reading as the rain kept splattering the windows. The words seemed to keep time with the rain. And thunder crashed at all the right moments.

Three chapters in and I was hooked to the end of the book. I’d found my solution, and it didn’t come from the book I was reading, but rather from the stilted phrases that intruded on the chapters…

My character needed a new car but hadn’t bought one yet. He would need transportation, and somehow, part of the story had to include him buying a new vehicle.

That was the story.

And that is why writers read.

To write.