It’s the end of the working day and I find myself in a library. What a place. Books everywhere, shelves of them towering from the floor to the ceiling, and every rack is full.
Since I was a kid, books have been my friends, my very good friends. I was never the quickest reader in the class (even now it takes me some time to sit down and get to the end of a hefty book), but I always loved the idea of the story. I figured that anyone who knew a lot of words could create a story – could weave any tale she wanted. So I started writing.
In December of 2008 I started writing. Didn’t really know where to start; just picked a thought-train in my head and went along for the ride. Ended up with a short story which I ran past a few friends and family members. It never went anywhere, though I was proud of it at the time – still am, I suppose, it being the first story and all.
But let’s skip the details other than this crucial one – to write well, one must learn to read well. You have to read – a lot, and, I admittedly haven’t been doing my part on this. We can sit back and blame the I-NEVER-HAVE-TIME gods for as long as we wish, but one day our own time will run out, and somewhere around there we’ll have to ask ourselves what all those excuses were worth.
The library is a grand place to be. Worlds, events, and characters just sit there and wait for us. We just need a bit of focus and effort and the ready rhythm is ours.
If you haven’t visited a library recently, it’d be a good idea, at least for a browse, maybe some nostalgia. Hell, you may even pick something off the shelf.