Since I started writing, I’ve done less and less reading. Well, reading for fun. I read tons every day. My mutant ability to read and remember has been utilized by many of my friends, and I get it. Believe me, if I had a friend who could plow through 50,000 words in a few hours and give cogent character arc and plot assessment (didn’t mind reading multiple drafts), I’d be begging her to read my stuff too. But that means I’m never reading just to read. I’m ALWAYS reading to pick out the flaws.
So when my husband gave me Brandon Sanderson’s Words of Radiance, I spent the first few chapters annoyed. “I can’t believe he did that! Well, that conversation had better pay off later.”
It wasn’t until I got sleepy that my inner editor shut the hell up. Then I started to genuinely enjoy the story, trusting in Mr. Sanderson to give me a good tale, something he’s done every time I’ve picked up one his books. After all, he’s one of the reasons, I tried my hand at writing again.
Robert Jordan made me despair of ever writing as well he could, Stephenie Meyers made me pissed off at what passed for decent story telling, but Brandon Sanderson proved to me that Urban Fantasy is still fantasy and could be written that way.
So this morning, I’ll get back to drafting that finale, but tonight I will put away my pen, and just enjoy a damn good book.