The oddity of change

I used to read all the time. And I do mean all. I read like I breathed; it was essential, simple as that. I couldn’t eat properly without a book (alone at least, I don’t do that with company) or, more rarely, the TV.

Yet somehow, over the past few years, I’ve stopped reading books almost entirely. I don’t hunt up new ones, though I’ll devour new books by favorite authors with voracity; I only rarely read old favorites, and when I do I often page through and pick out my favorite bits instead of actually reading them all the way through.

The question is, of course, what am I doing instead? And it’s the answer that keeps me from worrying too much. I’m reading fanfic, and I’m writing. I’ve abandoned the reassuring weight of actual tomes for the virtual pages of fandom, varying from mediocre to outstanding with the occasional dip into the really bad. I run through the stuff like a cat on ‘mint, wallowing in the good stuff.

And I write. Mostly fanfic, but not always. I sometimes find I don’t have enough time to write as much as I want, which is definitely a good thing. And writing usually takes precedence over reading, if it’s possible for me to be writing at the time.

I also watch TV (which means shows, movies, etc., mostly on tape or DVD) but not as much as I used to--the shows I tape are piling up, waiting for me to watch them, with one or two exceptions. For a while I was watching more, because it was my inspiration for fic, but by now most of my ideas are fixed enough that I don’t have to go back and watch again.

But the books are still there.

It’s reassuring. Sooner or later, all fandoms wind down; they may not vanish entirely, but eventually the show ends, there are no more sequels, and the muse runs dry. My life and interests are not static; they change slowly, but they do change. When the fic is done, when the tapes and DVDs are worn and laid aside, I’ll return to my old friends. They’re waiting patiently, gathering dust and cat hair, ready at any time to return to my hands and take me away to the worlds folded within their pages. Some familiar, some new, but always available--all I need is light and my glasses.

It works.

The oddity of change

I used to read all the time. And I do mean all. I read like I breathed; it was essential, simple as that. I couldn’t eat properly without a book (alone at least, I don’t do that with company) or, more rarely, the TV.

Yet somehow, over the past few years, I’ve stopped reading books almost entirely. I don’t hunt up new ones, though I’ll devour new books by favorite authors with voracity; I only rarely read old favorites, and when I do I often page through and pick out my favorite bits instead of actually reading them all the way through.

The question is, of course, what am I doing instead? And it’s the answer that keeps me from worrying too much. I’m reading fanfic, and I’m writing. I’ve abandoned the reassuring weight of actual tomes for the virtual pages of fandom, varying from mediocre to outstanding with the occasional dip into the really bad. I run through the stuff like a cat on ‘mint, wallowing in the good stuff.

And I write. Mostly fanfic, but not always. I sometimes find I don’t have enough time to write as much as I want, which is definitely a good thing. And writing usually takes precedence over reading, if it’s possible for me to be writing at the time.

I also watch TV (which means shows, movies, etc., mostly on tape or DVD) but not as much as I used to--the shows I tape are piling up, waiting for me to watch them, with one or two exceptions. For a while I was watching more, because it was my inspiration for fic, but by now most of my ideas are fixed enough that I don’t have to go back and watch again.

But the books are still there.

It’s reassuring. Sooner or later, all fandoms wind down; they may not vanish entirely, but eventually the show ends, there are no more sequels, and the muse runs dry. My life and interests are not static; they change slowly, but they do change. When the fic is done, when the tapes and DVDs are worn and laid aside, I’ll return to my old friends. They’re waiting patiently, gathering dust and cat hair, ready at any time to return to my hands and take me away to the worlds folded within their pages. Some familiar, some new, but always available--all I need is light and my glasses.

It works.