Last Saturday I re-read, finished challenging and gave my First Reader consent to the first four chapters of a new trilogy, which in hindsight I realised I’ll be most likely busy with for the next eighteen months or so. And when I say busy, I don’t necessarily mean the careful reading, considering, arguing, notes writing, re-reading and re-reading again part. I mean, and this is based on experience, how part of my heart will be borrowed by a bunch of fictional characters, written to a level of depth where they start feeling real to you, making you care about them a little more each day (hell, I’m already worried about one of them!), how my head will always stay a little under the surface of the story, wondering, reflecting, contemplating as the tale slowly unfolds chapter by chapter.
And I suppose this is part of the reason why I only read a handful of books during the year. Between beta-reading and writing my own story it’s not just the amount of time I have left that is not sufficient for taking much more in. It’s also what I have left of me. Temporarily a little less space and capacity, both in my brain and in my heart. That precious few that do make it to my reading list are hence always truly special.
Mitriel Faywood 