I am a compulsive writer.  My mind works that way – I see a word or concept or happenstance in our complex lives and must write down what I think about it.  It is the same way with the writings of others.  I am a compulsive reader.  I have read (Carol might say that I skim a lot) about a book a day all through my working life.  This in addition to all the printed minutia I had to deal with as a teacher.  I have not slowed down in my later years because there is so much to read and so little time.

I must confess that I DO skim a lot.  There are talky parts of books that do not grab me and I look ahead to see if there is something that WILL grab me and once again I am in the depths of someone else’s thinking and crafting a story that will hold my interest.  There are very few books I have given up on for there was no real skill in putting the words together or the subject matter was too vacuous or juvenile.  But, I have taken even these to my favorite reading position which is lying down with the book on my chest and soldiering on through really obvious and sadly put together masses of words so I, in my fashion, finish it.

I have noticed that all of my favorite works still have the power to draw me in and I find that I go back and reread them in their entirety.  I sometimes wonder how such stories could have been thought up until I realized that thinking is allowed and I do only so much as my abilities enable me in my morning exercise in writing a THINKING ALLOWED essay.

I became addicted to reading science fiction very early.  For me, the fiction part was more important than the science.  Utopian thinking and utopias have been part of my life since High School.  Neither interest has cooled over time. I have tried to entice others to share my interests and my essays show this. Those who receive them and do not get drawn in by my title either delete my “masterpiece” or print it out to be ignored until the hard copies pile up to the point where there is no point to keeping them.  Then, their fate is to be thrown out, unread and unappreciated for the inspiration that caused me to write in the first place. What interests me does not necessarily interest others.

But this is about READING HABITS.  My reading habits do not include going through my collection of essays and rereading them or prospecting for some theme that will produce a “book”.  I shudder to think of choosing and then having to read what I wrote.  But, I am compulsive and read cereal boxes and advertisements and just about anything.  The compulsiveness runs both ways – the reading and the writing.