It might be the compulsive part of my personality, but I ask myself, "What's next?" about 30 times a day. However, the moment that this question really hammers at my peace of mind is when I finish.
Finish what? At this particular moment, reading a book. It was awesome, and fun, sparked my imagination, took me to far off lands and times long ago. And now...I want more.
This is when my better half, if that's what you want to call responsibility, wars with my more creative self. I want to read another book full of kings, mistresses, war, politics, gowns, glory, deceit but I also have other projects that require attention. There is The King's Mistress, a new novel, and now a Fairy Tale project--which is finally getting the seeds of imagination it requires to take flight. There's racing, and commentary and editing. My job--you know, the thing that pays the bills, gets in the way of all of this. The house, my lord they really know how to plow you under, those piles of sticks which threaten to fall on top of you if you let them.
And still, amidst all this reality, the call of whimsy remains. I want to read another. There are volumes in the To Be Read pile. Movies in the To Be Watched pile. An afghan in the To Be Crocheted pile. Paint for the Finish the Living Room pile.
Read? Clean? Write? Play?
My fellow bookworms understand the call of the paperback. They draw you in and threaten to suck your life away, if you let them.
For today, I shall head off to the track, watch some racing, sort some photos and conjure a column for The Frontstretch.
Tomorrow? Maybe there will be time to read, perchance to dream...
What did I just read?