Writers read. Period. Exclamation point.
If you cannot find time to READ then you will never, ever be a writer. I do not know how many more times I can have this conversation before my head explodes. Many of my friends share my frustration over encounters much like the one I had today.
Oh, and if you are wondering, this post was SUPPOSED to be a book review but I CANNOT in good conscience post a book review and have consequently bumped it back a few weeks to make way for this jewel of a rant.
Here’s the scenario.
I’m at my local Starbucks. They know me a little bit. One of the baristas asks how NaNo is going. We chat. Stranger enters story and asks if we are discussing National Novel Writing Month. Of course, duh, we are.
This person proceeds to ask which if us is participating (we both are) and she says “oh, oh my goodness, I’m a writer too!” She actually squealed. Bad feeling settles over me at this point. I exchange a look with the barista, a fabulous young man who I love to discuss books with on occasion. It is clear we both know where this is going.
Said woman continues to go on about how she’s trying National Novel Writing Month for the first time. She is so sad because she is really struggling. We chat a bit and the barista suggests a few books on creating. To this she responds:
Oh, I don’t read. I just don’t have time or patience for books.
I’m sorry, what? Come again? I feel my face turn color, the heat is clearly about to burst from my ears but I need not say a word. My lovely barista says “Honey, if you want to be a writer, you HAVE to read.”
She looks at him, her face all defiant, says “nobody really believes that” and looks to me for support. The look on my face must tell her all she wants to know about the lack of sympathy for the devil so she snatches her ridiculous drink concoction and stalks off.