Today on facebook, Grandma asked Heather what our family was doing for the holiday. To start, Mom and Dad left around 1 this morning, bound for a week-long trip to Mexico. Aside from that, the day was laid out like any normal Monday, with the absence of Bible study tonight. Heather mused about how we would all spend our days. She for one would be at a friend's house, but the rest of us would probably carry on like nothing was different. She gave examples for what the other two would do, and when she got to me, she paused, shrugged, and said, "You'll blog?"
She makes it seem like I do that often. As if.
As a matter of fact, I spent the better part of my day reading. I even started to write something like a review on the book for my post today, but decided against it. I don't want to bore you. But I still will mention it. (It was the only real reason I had for blogging today.)
The book was Around the World in 80 Days. I'd never read it before. Sadly, growing up, I missed all of the classics except Black Stallion, Secret Garden, and Peter Rabbit. (Well, maybe a few more, but not many.) I'm just now enjoying Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Pride and Prejudice. Sad, isn't it?
Anyway, 80 Days appeared on our hutch a few days ago. I think it's for the middle school literary class/book club at co-op this year (and why we high school students don't get a book club, I can't discern). There it sat, unnoticed and neglected, until, out of curiosity, I picked it up.
There are days when pretty much all I do is read. I'm not one of those steady readers who can be satisfied with a chapter or two every few days. Like other parts of my life, I read in chunks. I'll devour a book in a day or two, repeat a couple of times, then be satisfied for a month or more. Maybe during that time I'll peruse an old favorite or try to work through a new one without significant progress until I am again hungry for a good story.
The last month or so was one of those lull periods. I just haven't been in the mood for reading. I've been trying to get through Sense and Sensibility for a few months now because I started it during a lull and skipped over it to read some new books during one of my quick-read phases, and haven't been in the mood to pick it back up since then.
I'll stop boring you with my reading habits now. So today was one of those days where I simply read. I started around noon, took a few breaks for laundry and supper, and finished around 6.
One of the things I love about reading is when I come to the end of a good book. I feel happy and fulfilled at the same time as feeling a bit sad, and sometimes a lull follows so I can savor the feeling of enjoying such a great story.
I didn't expect it, but Around the World in 80 Days was one of those stories. I read stories first for the characters and then for the plot. 80 Days had fantastic characters leading an exciting, slightly far-fetched, and adventurous plot, which makes it all the better. I've seen the movie version with Jackie Chan, but it so didn't do the story justice. I was even on the edge of my seat at the end. (Well, "edge of the seat" for me means curled up tight in the corner of the couch, giggling like an idiot with excitement.) When it was all said and done, I felt extremely gratified at having been able to share in such a wonderful adventure.
The first time I can remember feeling like that at the end of a book was actually when I finished the Chronicles of Narnia series (which I didn't ever read until around the release of the first movie in theaters). Then, I was terribly sad. Maybe part of it had to do with the fact that Narnia was gone. (Well, you know, in a sense.) Maybe it was because, though I couldn't quite grasp all of the deeper parts of the stories, I did sense them, and I felt a little lost knowing they were over. I don't know. But I literally felt like moping when I finished The Last Battle. True story.
I love that feeling. And yes, I actually was going somewhere with this.
There are times when I've considered giving up writing. Especially in the last year or a little more, I have seriously though about setting it aside. But I never can do it. Part of it is because writing is a part of me. I can't suppress it, I can't ignore it. No matter what I do, deep down I will always keep on writing. I will always feel the urge to write down that bright idea or that character sketch or that quote.
In many ways, I write for the same reason I read. I do it for the rush of excitement, the turmoil, the breathless moments when I don't know what will happen next, the pure joy I feel when it all comes to a close.
But I also keep on writing for a dream. A dream that one day, one of my stories will touch even one reader in the same way that my favorite books have touched me. I write because I want to pass on that mingling of fulfillment and sorrow when the story comes to a close.
I want to impact people. God gave me the gift of writing like He gave me the desire to impact those I come in contact with. If the contact is through the written word, then I will know I've accomplished something. So I keep writing, because it's what I know to do. And I keep reading so I remember the breathlessness.
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