Reading while writing is problematic. I don’t mean doing both simultaneously like a bifurcated mind hive (what?!) but reading AROUND writing exploits is problematical. Not least because of the vast comparative talent gulf it provides.
I am reading Stephen Erikson’s Malazan thingy (book 2 so far. WOW!), so the gulf can be easily explained. The writing is EPIC. More textured than a needlecraft workshop. I am also trying to read George R R Martin’s A Feast for Crows, part of his very own epic which, unfortunately, is beginning to feel turgid. But I am nothing if not dedicated to doing things OTHER than actual writing.
I made a decision to start again. That’s not to say the 50k plus words are lost, I just feel I have been much more David Eddings in tone than Stephen Donaldson. I am no longer 14, after all. I should try to find a happy medium in which I can settle comfortably, I suppose. It is a toss-up between the urge to recreate the stuff I liked as a callow brat and what I like now. Many writers have said to write what you like, but there is such scope in what I like it is not easy.
Now, that’s a thought….a bifurcated mind hive….hmmm…