I’ve been making myself sit down and actually work on writing my book every day for the last two weeks.
I don’t mean to toot my own horn but, “beep! beep!”
To those of you with published and self-published and hell, even completed novels, this may seem small and insignificant.
To those of you who think so, I say, “Well, fuck you!”
Just kidding. (But not really.)
Anyhoo, I don’t know how normal people go about writing books, but I think it’s safe to assume that the process is a lot of staring at a blank computer screen or getting distracted by many other things that shouldn’t be on your computer screen while you’re trying to work. (Get your mind outta the gutter! I don’t mean porn! But that’s only because since we’ve gotten our new computer, my Rockstar doesn’t want to get any viruses on it.) I’m talking about being logged in to Facebook, or Amazon, or WordPress.
Yesterday, while I was busy mulling over whether my main character should have an Irish lilt to her voice or not, I decided to look up a list of the top 100 books to read. Oddly enough, there isn’t just one, so I printed off the one that seemed the smartest, which was actually two. The Modern Library had their board make a list, as well as their readers. I readied myself to amaze myself with how well-read I was.
Amazed, I was not. Astounded? Absolutely. For after reading in their entirety the suggested top 200 books of all time, (several of which were on both lists) I came to the realization that I’ve read only two. TWO?!!?!?!??!? Are you frickin’ kidding me?! I own over 5000 books of every make and model, and yet I cannot boast that I’ve read even five of the top 100 books of all time.
My shame is palpable.
P.S. At least I can say that I OWN 25 or so of them. Like that’s any consolation.
Sparklebumpsthebookwhore 