I'm addicted, yes, I surely am. I'm addicted to books.
As a teacher of writing, and big old reader from way back, this isn't a shock or surprise to most. Yet it consistently surprises ME how my addiction affects me.
RARELY will I not finish a book, even if it's total schlock. I keep on keepin' on, hoping and praying that someone out there WROTE this, and I know what that's like. It's blood, it's sweat, it's tears, and tears again, and repeat the whole process because it has to be revised so you're not an open wound on a page. And it's how DARE that editor want me to take out that oh so poignant moment I struggled with for a week of sunshiny days when I could have been among the living. And it's I have to look at it one. last. time. that turns into a major overhaul of ten pages. I respect the process AND I respect the writer for having the stones to step up the plate, take a swing at that ball that's humming past (Yeah, I'm mixing my metaphors. Just go with it, I'm on a role.) even if it's an ugly swing.
I may talk about how godawful bad the thing was, but I've only NOT finished one book in the last few years. My husband watched me try to get through it, too. He was wandering around the house doing whatever, and I was on the couch in the living room. He passed me a few times, and he said I kept saying "Hmph!" under my breath, closing the book, looking at the cover, looking at the back of it and repeating. He said then I'd wiggle around on the couch, like I couldn't get comfortable.
Books create a PHYSICAL response in me. I'm not just talking about an exciting chapter raising my heart rate or anything. I'm talking about the LACK of reading creates a feeling akin to withdrawl for me. Right now, I haven't checked anything out of the library in a while, knowing I have a ton of work with grading and scouts and kids' activities to do. So I didn't get any books. I haven't even let myself go into the second hand store that has a fabulous collection of cheap, dirty reads. But oh MAN do I feel it. I get twitchy and grumpy and I don't sleep right. I feel like everything is alternately too slow or too fast. It's like everything is just off kilter, and I'm trying to maintain like everything is normal. If the reason I denied a book is too get work done, it doesn't work. I find I'm too harsh with students, and I can't get tuned in to what their reasoning is.
At first, I was a skeptic about electronic books. I LOVE the feel of a book in my hand. The weight it has, the scraping sound a page turning makes. Reaching out your hand to find anything to mark your spot because dang, it's late and time to GO. The leaning over to a total stranger just to see what they're reading and getting into a discussion about it. Books make friends, people. Now? It's a glorious thing that e-readers were invented. I'm in the middle of a really bad time, man. I need a book bad. Something new. Nothing on my shelves is right. But MY kinda crack? I just popped online, borrowed a book from my library down to my Nook. For addictions, this is a pretty good one.
It'll be alright, just a few more minutes, and I'll be in a different place.
See ya there.
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