LITERATURE: Reading & Writing

Hard night’s sleep again last night, and so I rise me up and wander through the dark.  Feed my body from the refrigerator, feed my soul and mind in books.  But did I?

Just now, as I write, I question what it is I am looking for in reading, where is the separation of the soul and mind?  Is one emotion, the other intellect?  I really do not know. 

What I question now is attitude and inspiration going in, and expectations, and here, at expectations I am drawn up short.  In reading contemporary short story anthologies, I suspect I may be tainted by my desire to write.  Two stories can be compared–but for what, on what basis can they bear up to contrast and evaluation?  Am I reading just for writing?  A somewhat plague of disappointment by the black night sky with the occasional star that shines is what I’m seeing.  But this is a gut feeling, though a bit more involved than just "I liked it." 

It is obvious that something’s wrong with my intentions when my first reaction to a read is "That won the first place fiction?"  Guilt overwhelms me, wondering if this self-indulgence, this competitive evil spirit is what drives my need to learn.Perhaps I need stop writing for a while, clear my head of self-serving reading habits.  At least with the contemporary fiction, since that is where my writing goal, my passions are. 

I will need to focus and decide another path for now.  To learn to read, to learn to get the most out of what is read.  In fiction to recognize, understand and enjoy, in all else to grow.  In all, to empty out my soul and mind of self-centered desires.  This knowledge alone will steady my steps.  But I need to repick my starting point, to build myself a cave where I can see myself, then can emerge and know what I am seeking.