In step. When I’m writing every day, hours a day, I’ll glance at the photographs in magazines, read bits of news, but rarely escape with a book. The left hand side of my night stand is decorated with a tall stack of books that I won’t fall asleep to or read until my thighs go numb on the toilet seat.
When I write, I pound at the keyboard. I go through keyboards, like truckers go through tires. Every letter and punctuation mark that pushes through the bottleneck in my brain, faces me with a boldness that’s inexplicably satisfying. The only book I can read, while I write, is my own. It’s just my manuscript and me, intertwined twenty-four hours a day until the end. It’s not always a pretty picture!
But, when I’m done, I retreat to my stacks, scout around my shrines–my favorite book stores, and anticipate dog-eared recommendations. When I completed the final revision of Stretch Marks, these books were waiting for me…
- Michael Sims, The Story of Charlotte’s Web
- Diana Souhami’s, Gertrude & Alice
- Claire Dederer’s, Poser
- Reread Lilian Hellman’s, Pentimento
- Kevin Wilson’s, The Family Fang
- Victor Villaseñor’s, Crazy Loco Love