I’ve been reading a book for the bookclub I attend – Divergent by Veronica Roth. It’s a YA dystopia written in present tense, first person just like another popular YA dystopia series. I’m halfway through and those appear to be the only similarities. Oh, except for the blistering pace and tension.
So, I’ve set aside a chunk of time to read (which is a feat in itself these days) and before I can turn around, it’s over and I have to get back to my life in the real world. And I just want to read the bloody book! So very annoying.
The other kind of books that do this to me are those huge fantasies – like ones by Robin Hobb. I get so wrapped up in the worlds she’s created that I really get frustrated at having to come back to this reality. And it makes me cranky.
Writing is the same way. I’m tooling along in whatever world I’ve created, pulling the story out of the depths of my brain and I don’t want to leave. Not for lunch. Not for making dinner or feeding cats. Not for helping with homework. NOT. NOT. NOT.
However, my life doesn’t work that way. I have responsibilities. That I can only drag out for so long. Sigh.
So, onto my huge list of things to do, so I can squeeze in a few minutes to try to find out what happens next!