An epiphany, of sorts

For someone who thinks about writing and talks about writing and bemoans her lack of writing, I realized today that I do precious little fictional reading. Oh, sure, I read the odd novel here and there, and I read a fair amount of them in high school, but somewhere along the way, nonfiction became my reading material of choice. A glance at my bookshelves reveals: career counseling, psychology, mythology, spirituality, and how-to-write books, but very few novels. I couldn't even come up with more than twenty novels I could classify as "favorites" (whereas I had almost fifty nonfiction books on the same list)!
Now, why is this important? Because how will I ever learn to write a decent novel (or any novel) if I don't read them? It's not just that I don't have time...I make time to read my favorite blogs and I'm also reading a new (you guessed it) spirituality book, the Power of Intention. I sat and nursed my mocha for a while (while my Madam was occupied watching the cars go by...one of the advantages of living in the Land of Sunshine is having a lot of enviable weather), trying to sit with the obvious conclusion. Maybe it's just not in me to write a novel...maybe it's just a goal I had a long time ago, and I keep it around because it feels good, noble even, to have it around. Maybe my true love is nonfiction, and I just need to face that. Ugh, I can feel my insides twisting away from that idea. But is that because it's wrong, or because it's all-too-right? Or maybe it's another symptom of my inability to read like a writer...maybe reading novels just feels like too much pressure.

Or maybe I am overthinking this. I tend to do that. I think I need to take the advice of this Amazon reviewer who mentioned wanting to "follow her lightness and desire." I actually stopped short when I read that, because I do have a tendency of concentrating on the strum und drang of writing, to the point where I don't think I have EVER used the words "lightness and desire" with regards to my own work practice. Maybe thinking about it that way once and a while will remind me that for some people, art is actually, genuinely, a pleasure.

And maybe my dearth of novel reading just means that I, you know, need to read more novels. I may need to add another nap to Madam's schedule (ha! indulging in some wishful thinking there) but I'm willing to make that sacrifice...I mean, indulge that desire. Hmmm...sounds sexier already.