Yes, I read for a living. Seriously.
Over a year ago, I was so insanely addicted to reading I actually wrote an article about my obsession. I was just out of school and searching for a job that would use my communications degree and love of the literary community. Publishing was a fleeting thought since I no longer lived in NYC and I had no interest in going back into the movie industry. So I dug deep and found the courage to start my own business, melding my passion with my training and Gliterary Girl Media was born.
I made wine from water. What I mean is that I used my gifts, both learned and inherent and made a career for myself. Crafted a balanced, yet crazy life filled with excitement and immense joy. I did it all by myself. If you can’t tell… I’m proud. Proud of my hard work and so incredibly proud of my clients. And as I correspond daily with those wonderful authors, I reflect on how important it is to follow the signs and do what you love – even if it is just for fun.
So, in homage to change, I wanted to re-share the article that started it all. The admission that made me reevaluate the trajectory of my career. It was just over a year ago, but it might have been a lifetime.
No seriously, I read entirely too much and it’s bordering on obsessive. Before I even throw the covers off me in the morning, I consider grabbing whatever book I am reading and forsaking my day for a literary fix. If I were actually addicted to an illegal substance, I would be a meth addict of the worst kind, stealing from friends and prostituting my body to quench my undying thirst. If I am interrupted, I snap; I become consumed with the story; I take my kindle or book everywhere so I can steal a moment alone; I get aggravated if things in the story don’t turn out the way I want; and I find myself thinking about the book when I am not actually reading it.
Then when the story is over and I search desperately to fill the now gaping hole that has been left to rot, I turn to Amazon, Google, the library and my bookshelf, in search of the dragon. Walk away and do something else. Draw. Go for a walk. Watch television. But the pull is too strong and the finality of it all leads to desperation, until I am again sucked back in to another story making me feel whole once again.
I constantly ask myself if it is worth it. I have read so much that I have to look at a list to remind myself what I have read. The list is embarrassing. A constant reminder of the days I spent sitting and inactive; days when I should have been engaged in my life, not the imagination of some other writer. I tell myself it is inspiration for my work, but it is far beyond that now.
This is my manifesto, my declaration of freedom from the confines of other peoples written words. From here on out, I will pull away. Remember the good times I spent in those made up worlds and begin to edit my own work, finish my Masters degree with a clear head and limit myself to three books a week (I was reading 7).
I will begin by spending the day outside. Maybe I will even write about it. More writing, more living, less reading will become my mantra. Just thought I would share.
Sara – Recovering Readaholic