Writing is tons of fun, but it’s not as much fun as reading. It’s not even close. The sometimes grueling task of plotting, developing characters, pacing, writing dialogue, and the slaughtering of adverbs and commas that is my personal editing process compares sadly to the joys of disappearing into a story for which someone else did all the hard work. I am a writer, yes, but first and foremost I am a reader.
It was probably my mum’s doing. She wasn’t very good at stashing the racy romances under cushions and the cache of gruesome horror novels under the bed didn’t stay hidden for long. It wasn’t uncommon for her to remove the reading material from my clutching hands and shoo me outside for some fresh air. Best of all, she had too many children to supervise my reading properly, so I read wild. Probably, the rapiest of the romances and horror novels were not good for my poor, innocent developing psyche, but I seem to have survived okay.
Maybe it was the librarian’s fault. She fed me all the best books from the children’s section, then became intently focused on the card indexes whenever I snuck into the adult section. We found our safe words: I could check out anything I liked as long as I told her it was for my mum. Those were the salad days, the science fiction days, the epic historical and bestseller days. Good days. I had much more time to read then than I do now.
Or perhaps it was the fault of that spectacular failure of a boyfriend, who pushed literature, the avant-garde and poetry into my sweaty little hands and then actually expected me to pay attention to him and not the treasures his bookshelves held. Thank goodness my husband and I understand each other. The phrase, “not now, I’m at a good bit,” is sacrosanct in our household and I think, “I stayed up too late reading a good book,” should be a perfectly acceptable reason for calling out at work.
I’m sure, in a community of readers like this one, you all have similar stories to share – about the people who fed you books and the ones who looked the other way while you fed yourself. Please do share your stories. Strange, how I think of books as nourishment. Do you? And if you’re looking for something to read I do hope you will consider the two books that Carina Press is releasing today: my own debut, Blue Galaxy, and Apocalypse Rising, by my delightful release day buddy, Maria Zannini, who has been so very kind and helpful to me . Thank you, Maria, and happy reading to you all!
Buy Blue Galaxy here
Buy Apocalypse Rising here.
There is an interview with me up and two copies of Blue Galaxy are being given away this week over at Gini Koch’s online crib, Blah, Blah, Blah.
About the author:
Diane Dooley was born in the Channel Islands, grew up in Scotland, has lived in several of the United States, loves to travel and to this day still suffers from wanderlust.
Since Diane was a voracious reader from a young age, it seemed to make perfect sense when she decided writing might make an enjoyable hobby. She has since realized that ‘enjoyable’ is entirely the wrong word. Her short stories have been published in several online venues, and she is a regular contributor to the science fiction blog The Galaxy Express.
Diane currently lives in a money pit of an old farmhouse in upstate New York, where she tends her husband, sons and a collection of reptiles. When she is not at her day job, she is either reading, writing, gardening, avoiding housework or driving her children to various sporting events. She is also a geek of intergalactic proportions with a severe YouTube habit.