I read 12 books this summer.
I thought if I read a lot of books, the inspiration that washed over the authors of those books would drench me with a bit of their self discipline and I'd sit my butt down and become the writer I always wanted to be.
So far, I'm still waiting.
I know what I have to do -- I have to write 1,000 words a day, 365 days a year, come rain or global warming, but I just can't get enough steam to actually do the work.
I think it's the "work" part of "doing the work" that has me stumped.
Reading's good, though.
To be a good writer, you have to be a good reader, or at least that's what I've always heard.
If I could get paid for reading, I'd be pert-near well off.
Lean back in my chair, sip on a hot cup of tea, and get lost in the back of some writer's mind -- a writer who was able to jump that reading-to-writer curve and make it work for them.
There's that "work" word again.
I really should give it a try.
Maybe next week.