Epiphany

I realized something about myself this weekend, and though it surprised me, with thought it is so very obvious. I have always thought of myself as a writer, and it is true that I have been writing for many years … I have a friend from middle school who recently reminded me that I was writing a novel in my spare time even then, and I have always found the act of writing, especially in a journal, to be relaxing and writing fiction to be enjoyable, for the most part. (Don’t get me wrong, I know that writing is hard work.)

Even when I have time to write, I don’t always choose to do so. I won’t drop everything to write, and I don’t feel frustrated and wound up when I don’t get the chance to write. I do, however, begin to feel that way when I don’t have something good to READ! With retrospection, I realized that the directive from an experienced writer which has always thrilled me the most is this: “To be a good writer, you must be a reader.” That, dear friend, is what I have always excelled at. I was even a young reader, having learned to read when I was three years old … my husband says that it is my competitive, jealous nature that wouldn’t allow my brother to know how to read when I didn’t, and he may be right, but I prefer to think that it was my subconscious recognizing what I have only just consciously acknowledged…

I AM A READER!

Now if I can just figure out how to make a living reading, then I would truly have found my calling. Any ideas?