To Read As A Writer

            In this chapter, Mark Edmunson states that the best type of reading is done early. When the reader first develops a love for books, which is typically done at a young age. “Early reading”, as Edmunson dubs it, is an immersive experience full of magic and promise. Unfortunately, this engaged type of reading cannot be sustained by most readers, but particularly by those readers who become writers themselves. He likens reading to an addiction in which the reader is always searching for the elusive feelings found in early reading. Like a drug addict, forever trying to reclaim that first high.

           

Like Edmunson, I fell in love with books at a young age. I was fascinated by the many worlds hidden between colorful covers. Books created a gateway to adventures and experiences far beyond any I could imagine on my own. The relationships created with the authors of these worlds were as real to me as the relationships I had with family. I craved time with them, and they were always there for me with a new tale of wonder.

           

Edmunson says that the “experience of reading in youth is one of total immersion” (128). Perhaps this is because they young very often have few responsibilities and a surplus of free time. Reading in your youth provides you with the time to really get to know the authors you love the most. You can explore with Beverly Cleary, take time to ponder the mysteries of this world with Emily Dickinson, or enter a realm of horror with R.L. Stine. Our world suddenly expands as J.R.R. Tolkien takes us on a journey through Middle Earth, and we are transported to a land we cannot understand. Not even that lack of understanding deters a young reader though. Instead, a sense of awe that there is “more to learn, space to grow” (129) is sparked within us.

           

Reading offers us a chance to do the impossible: to live an endless number of lives. When we read, we are able to put aside everything that weighs us down in this life and step into another. Reading while young allows you to see the world through multiple perspectives. This in turn, helps you to be more sympathetic to the plights of those who are different from you. It helps you to seek out the commonalities instead of the differences.

           

The first time I read Lois Lowry’s Number the Stars a transformative book for me. I had very little in common with Lowry’s main character, Annemarie, other than also being a girl of about ten. Lowery composed a beautiful story of friendship and bravery that astounded me. I was in awe of a girl, and her nation, who did everything she could to save a friend and her family. I remember the fear I felt for her as she delivered secret messages to others helping Jews escape under the noses of occupying Nazi forces. Through Annmarie, and her friend Ellen, the actuality of the Holocaust was made real to me in ways no history lesson could accomplish. I was present with them as they fought to keep Ellen concealed, and to get her and her family out of Denmark. That book taught me that it is possible for people to do the right thing even in times of darkness and evil. It also provided a blueprint that I might draw upon should I ever need to exhibit my own bravery against injustice. Whatever it may be.

           

Early reading presents us with the knowledge that “there is more to know and enjoy and fear and experience . . . and there is more to understand especially about the lives of others than we have ever thought” (130). It provides a readily accessible escape that few other pursuits, outside of drugs, allow. This, however, is the problem according to Edmunson. If you are going to become a writer, you are going to have to give up the easy joy and escape of reading.

Edmunson lists many reasons writer’s face challenges in recapturing the experiences of early reading. Some become too critical because they have seen, and become, the Man Behind the Curtain. They cannot help assessing the methods used, or trying to peel back the layers of plot, character, setting, etc., to see how a particular scene or twist was accomplished. They can appreciate and enjoy another writer’s work, but they can never quite escape the impulse to evaluate, analyze, or breakdown the story. In this way, reading becomes a tool. An exercise in gathering more parts for your craft that might be of use later.

Other writers fall victim to the offence of competitiveness. For them, reading the work of someone who has accomplished the difficult task of both writing and publishing a book is too much. It invokes in them a sense of anxiety about their own work that they cannot shake. They find themselves comparing the finished work to their own unfinished parts. Inevitably, their unfinished work comes up short and they are filled with doubts about their ability to create. This is unhealthy. It is certainly not conducive to creating their own books. To avoid this, authors avoid reading the work of others. At least until they’ve finished writing their own. After that, they turn to the stack that has been accumulating and dive in.

This leads to another pitfall of writing, however: not reading at all. It is tempting to ignore the fact that there are other writers out there doing what you do. Perhaps doing it better, or more easily than you. Or, even, worse, writers you feel to be less talented having already achieved that elusive goal of publishing and popularity. Avoiding these anxiety inducing scenarios might keep you blood-pressure down, but it will also lead to a shortage of inspiration. Because the truth is that most writers work in informed and inspired by the other authors they read. Stepping into a world created by someone else could help unlock the worlds we keep inside ourselves. While avoiding reading during the writing process is helpful, it’s unwise to avoid reading all together. Especially do not refuse to read the work of authors you fear to be better than yourself. In the long run, you will only hurt yourself and cause your own writing to lack depth.

Unsurprisingly, those of us who found joy in reading in youth often attempt to recapture those feelings. We behave as addicts, always searching out that one perfect high. Occasionally, we salvage a bit of that early experience. I know I do. Through all night reading sessions, or marking the release dates for highly anticipated books on my calendar. Sometimes I regain the feeling through sharing, or discussing my favorite books with others. It’s always a bit elusive though. Real life intrudes more often than it used to. Other obligations make greater demands on my time, and I cannot dedicate as much of my life to fictional worlds as I used to.

There is one obstacle to reading as a writer that Edmunson does not cover in this chapter: the obstacle of expending all of your creative energy into someone else’s creation. This is the obstacle that I find it the most difficult to overcome. I rarely find myself envious of other writers, nor to I see them as competition. I also have very little trouble becoming immersed in the world they have created for me. Sure, there is a little voice in my head that observes all the tricks that author implement and the elements that went wrong. The voice that makes note of those tricks and files them away to use later, or to avoid. However, that voice is respectful and does not intrude on the magic of getting lost in the story. At least, with the good stories. I must admit that I am as prone as anyone else to object to bad writing and world building.

With good stories, I am all in. Every bit of my concentration and ability to imagine is invested in the world created for me. Thus, my problem. In order to write myself, I must store up all my creative energy. I must hoard it deep within myself so that when I sit down to write my own stories I have plenty to draw from. If I indulge to freely in reading I spend all of my creative currency on building someone else’s world. The struggle is in the fact that I enjoy this expenditure thoroughly. To write, I must do as Edmunson says and “[cast myself] out from the world of hypnotic reading” (136). I might lose a little bit of the magic cast by someone else, but it’s possible I’d gain a greater reward. Perhaps I’d learn to create a kind of magic that would be as engrossing for other readers as all the stories I’ve loved have been fore me. To be a writer I’d have to exchange being the cast upon for being the castor. When you think about it, it’s a pretty fair trade,