I have a library full of leather-bound books from dead masters, and for years they stood in rows untouched because I was always too busy reading the latest lgbtq book to hit the racks.
But this year I committed myself to reading the masters, one by one, until I’ve read each one on the shelves. I must say, I’m loving them so far. I started with Tennessee Williams, reading several of his plays. Then I moved to Steinbeck, reading Cannery Row and now East of Eden. Once I make it through The Winter of Out Discontent and The Grapes of Wrath, I’ll move on to Hemingway.
I have no idea what effect these brilliant writers have on my own writing, but I’m loving reading them. I’m finally at a point where I can really appreciate the way they crafted their stories, created interesting characters, and their superb selection of words.
So from now on I’m reading two books at once, one old and one new.