DWP No. 026

 

Remember, there are no right answers.

There are no better answers. There are no bad answers. There are only personal interpretations that you’re brave enough to share with the world. We’re all here for all of you. If you need some encouragement, ask. We’re beginning the last week of this thing!

Also, the expected length of responses is a mere few sentences unless otherwise specified.

I don’t have the luxury of not reading.

Thank you all for chugging along with me! I appreciate the camaraderie like you wouldn’t believe!

p.s. use brackets, as always, to direct my attention to a [ question ].

7 Comments

  1. I really really really love to read. I have to read. To me, reading is like breathing. It’s urgent and urgency, static and euphoric. It is my sleeping pill, my addiction, far better than hot sauce, more fragrant than peonies, my babysitter, my family, my reality, such exquisite sustenance. Reading is not a luxury. It is as normal as onions, as simple as water. I dated a guy once who did not read. He had never read a book; he saw no need to read. He was a contented nonreader. He told me so one day while cuddling on the couch. Ahh, Interesting, I lied, and soon dumped him.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. It might be ironic, but I don’t have the luxury of not reading. Not seeing art or, at least, images. I’m overwhelmed, constantly, bogged down and distracted but stuff I feel forced, triggered and manipulated into reading before clicking something else. God forbid, I don’t close a window from the night before or after doing might writing prompt, I might fall into a hole of clicking and gawking and reading of things that have add no value to my life. It makes me anxious, self-loathing and sad. The information age is the writer’s hell.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It is a curse! A poisonous curse, I tell you! How I long for the day when the gravity of words no longer enslaves my attention, and I may finally pass through the world in the blissful ignorance of my own mental devising. If I am forced to ingest another litany of billboards trying to convince me of my need for a new cologne or skin moisturizer I’ll thrust the bloody knife into my own damn eyes and get the whole fucking thing over with.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. It was in the middle of college, as a highly ambitious double major (chemistry and women’s studies) who did triathlons on the side, worked and was a single mom to two daughters, that I quit reading. As it was, I only slept four hours a night and I could fit in no more. Twenty years had gone by, a total of six children have come and grown (always a single mom), and I didn’t even remember that I liked to read. I knew that I had, I knew that as an extremely neglected child, I read a book every day (I was kept outside, nothing else to do).

    So I’ve been in Seattle for three months, haven’t found work yet and always wanted to write, or thought I did. So one day, I’m angry, pissed, fed up with the lack of employment and I decide, “Fine, I’ll be an artist and a writer if I’m not going to get paid anyway.”.

    That was about four weeks ago and I started scrambling to learn everything I could about being a writer. The most important idea I came across was that if you want to write well you will have to read. So I started reading again, I wasn’t really happy about it, I just thought it necessary. But now, holy wow, I love to read. I remember, I always loved reading. It’s like discovering a long forgotten treasure.

    Because I am a writer, I do not have the luxury of not reading. Fortunately for me, it is one of my favorite things to do.

    Yesterday, I got my first writing job. I am a ghost writer.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Congratulations! ‘Way to go! I would love to hear the process you went through to obtain the position.

    Like

  6. With forty-eight books left to read this calendar year, I can’t afford to not read over the course of a single day. No matter the day, no matter what else is going on, I gotta get a few pages in, real pages, not that fake reading that the internet demands. I feel as though I read all day every day without ever reading anything even remotely interesting or … exciting. A thing to get excited about, now that’s something I can get excited about.

    Liked by 1 person

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