Recultivating a reading habit

Feeling less creative? Maybe it's time to read

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All my life, I’ve been a reader. As a child, my mom would shoo me outside, where I’d wander for a while, then find a place to read—under a tree or even perched in its welcoming branches.

The last few months, I’ve buried myself in writing and editing work—meeting deadlines, plodding through manuscripts (mine and other people’s). My days are full of words. But I’m producing words, not just savoring and enjoying them.

Evenings, I collapse on the couch and, I hate to admit, scroll aimlessly, soaking in puppy or pony videos, cooking videos, running videos. I weave in some online Scrabble and Wordle, which feel at least mildly intellectually stimulating. Again, more words. But also, time wasters.

I have read a short stack of books this summer, but not consumed them at my normal pace. I feel reading deprived. Now, editing work is reading, so technically, I spend much of each day reading. But—I’m hungry for some meaty prose. I dug through the pile on the nightstand, unearthing Mary Oliver’s Blue Pastures. I could tell by the underlining in it I’d read it before, but I enjoyed it as if for the first time.

You guys. Wow. I love Mary Oliver’s poetry, but this book is poetic prose. A collection of essays, beautifully crafted. I want to tell Mary, “You make me want to be a better writer.” Because good reading does that. It fuels our creativity, it fills us.

After just a couple of days of replacing at least some of my scrolling with reading for joy and pleasure, I notice my writing shifting. I have whet my own appetite for creative endeavor, and I have reading to thank for it.

Early this morning I went for a run, and later wrote about it:

You know that feeling? The one you get when you get to the forest preserve and the sun is just rising and the fog is spread across the low spots like whipped cream? And the fields are full of summer’s last valiant effort at blooming and the geese glide above the fog effortlessly as you run slow and easy, laughing with your friends? And even at the southeast corner where all three times you pass it you smell skunk but you don’t care because it’s a beautiful morning? And the fog burns off and the sun puts everything in sharp focus and you just feel grateful for the small things like post-run pistachios? It was that kind of a run.

I wasn’t trying to write like Mary Oliver, because she’s untouchable. I wrote more like myself, a girl who loves the outdoors, who loves words, who wants to capture beauty, if only for myself and a few friends.

What are you reading these days? Any recommendations for our Powerful Story readers? I’m going to keep digging through my own bookshelves, and my local library. So tell us what you’re reading and what you recommend!

Thank you and you’re welcome

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P.S. If you like this newsletter, you might be interested in my other writing. You can find it on my blog, or in my books, which you can check out here on my amazon author page.