Reading Deprived

In an earlier post (Reading vs. Writing 9/16/09) I wrote that I was scaling back on reading in order to write more. I have yet to complete the chapter of Grandpa Art I’ve been working on over the past few months, so I banned myself from reading altogether.  It wasn’t a matter of time distribution so much as it was high time I reclaimed my imagination  for my own story. The self-imposed hiatus went into effect three weeks ago, and the results have been mixed.

I succeeded in rerouting my imagination and now have the scene almost fully realized, but it still hasn’t translated into words. The description has come haltingly, without flow. The language has dried up. My mind feels dessicated, parched from a lack of literature. This became keenly evident while I was reading an exceptional short story in The New Yorker (the singular source allowable).

Fjord of Killary” by Kevin Barry is about an Irish poet who buys an old hotel on the west coast of Ireland in his search for inspiration. He finds only a deeper melancholy, out of place amid the locals, until a tremendous storm causes the waves to overflow the sea wall and flood the hotel. The proprietor and his colourful clientele seek refuge on the second floor, and as the water rushes in so too does the poetic inspiration. I felt the flood of Barry’s words seep into my thirsty mind, filling the basement and lower levels. I soaked up his story like a spent sponge.

Yet even after that experience I continued to deny myself the pleasure of reading, as if I had given it up for Lent (despite the fact that I’m not Catholic, as I cracked on my twitter account @JACrobat). My friend Phoebe Gaston, a book rep for Algonquin, went out of her way to provide me with an advance reader copy of The Frozen Rabbi by Steve Stern which sounds fantastic, but I forced myself to leave it on the shelf until I finish this chapter. It’s been three weeks and my resolve, like the ice encasing the rabbi, is starting to melt.

I have deprived myself long enough. Based on the theory that what you get out of an activity is proportionate to what you put in, I’m going to start putting words back into my mind. My narrator is from Richmond, so I’m going to pick up Richmond Noir, a recommendation from Kelly Justice at the Fountain Bookstore. The Frozen Rabbi will have to remain in suspended animation for a little longer!

Side note: not reading on the train every day has afforded me the chance to catch up on some Writing Excuses podcasts, which are most beneficial!

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