Door hanging off the hinges

On the plane ride back from San Francisco, I was going to answer emails but got caught up in Octavia Butler's Clay's Ark, which a friend had given to me last night. Butler is the sort of scifi author that actually gets respect in the wider world of literature, and any self respecting fan of the genre should know her. Of course, I was only exposed to her a few years ago, and have only read two of her novels since.

I'm an inveterate re-reader, which is kind of a waste if you think about it. Case in point, I re-read half of Ender's Game again as I sat on Ameer's couch the other day. I've only read that book twenty times or so, another quick pass couldn't hurt anything right? But it's another hour of reading that could be used elsewhere. I think I'm going to stop re-reading for awhile.

Oftentimes I feel like I read something already because I've been exposed to so much of the talk around it. The reviews, the debates, the podcasts. I need to actually read the real thing and fight this regurgitation intake -- even if it's easier. Without taking in original content for yourself, you're really just talking bullshit right?

This entire year I've begun five books, finished three (pathetic), and only gotten something out of one. Today's book was a slim 213 pages and I finished it before we landed. It's not like I'm reading Gravity's Rainbow here. I just need a few hours alone and away from a computer to zip through something. I should do it. It's like this with books. You only have time for so many and it's time invested that may not necessarily be positively returned. But without new ideas, new inspiration, I'm going nowhere.

Clay's Ark is about an alien disease that infects humans and then makes them monsters. In my Twilight addled mind, the monsters were pretty much grittier vampires and werewolves. The book seemed uneven but the ideas were interesting. Most importantly it got me thinking and that's useful as I need to be translating thoughts to writing this month.

I signed up to do a e-pub short story for this summer, and I have to try to work out some ideas for books that are owed and books that I need to sell. The other night we talked about goals (briefly, before I passed out). My goals have always been hazy to near non-existent, but they're there.

As a friend emailed to me recently:

"Glad to hear your projects are moving forward. I was a little worried for you. Most of my writer friends are of the highly-determined variety. [Adam], whose hours are pretty similar to you, worked night audit for a hotel in college and after just so he'd be able to stay up all night and write -- and get paid for it -- without being interrupted by real work all that often. And now he's a #1 NYT bestseller, so I think it worked for him. I'm really impressed by you getting as far as you have without that, but good work habits can't be a bad thing for a good writer."