I went to the book store the other day. My friend and I go as part of an evening out. We plan on dinner and a movie, but usually, by the time dinner is over, neither of us wants to sit in a theater for 2+ hours.
She likes Borders, I prefer Barnes and Noble. Which bookstore we end up visiting depends on which movie theater we decided not to go to.
I don’t read as much as I used to, as I just don’t have the time. Still, I read about 30 books a year. I have my favorite authors, favorite subjects, but I’ve noticed lately that a lot of the books I’m buying are just BORING.
My last foray yielded just one book, Eleven on Top, by Janet Evanovich. Her books are an easy, entertaining read, but I knew I’d need another book before long. While looking for something else to read, I stumbled across Stephen King’s On Writing. He decided to write a book about writing a book.
I decided to read a book about writing a book written by a guy who has written a lot of books. I’ve been thinking of writing a novel now for quite a few years. I’ve written a few pages, found a general direction I’d like to head in but didn’t really know where to go from there. I do know that thinking about writing doesn’t get it written.
Writing daily (hmm, daily might be a misnomer; let’s say “regularly”) in my blog has fired up that thinking-but-not-writing cell in my brain. Coupled with my new-found entrepreneurial spirit and I can now call myself inspired.
That’s a good start, no?