I tend to read less when writing. (Something about too many words running around my head and eye glaze.) Then something fantastic happened. The book I was reading to avoid my own writing turned to shit 500 pages in. Kinda sad considering I would have bought the rest of the series. Not only did said book go to the great give away in the sky, the author’s chances of ever getting me back are slim. Yeah, as a reader I’m harsh. Reading time is valuable and there are a gazillion great books just waiting to crowd my already crowded bookshelves. Yet I am forever thankful I read that book. More thankful even, that I read it when I did, which was while struggling with my own shit ending for Finicky Eater. Serendipitous indeed and a priceless lesson on how important endings are.
Another book read while writing had its own cult following and a popularity scale off the charts. To the author’s credit – she had FUN writing it and it showed. Apparently, that was all that mattered and I have to admit, once I reverted to age 12, I had a giggle or two too. This glaring reminder – to have FUN, lighten up, was well needed as I had been slugging out my own fight with then WIP. Again, well timed!
The point I am making is while I picked those books to read with no other goal in mind than they struck my fancy at the time of choosing, my writing world benefited in ways I never imagined.