No books for me

Tonight I wandered aimlessly through Barnes and Noble, looking at titles, thumbing through pages from favorite authors. The covers were enticing, the smell of books and the order of shelves and aisles calming and soothing. I love the quiet and sanctity of bookstores.

I wandered through the store and finally left with nothing.


I’ve been an avid reader as far back as I can remember. I would rather read than watch anything. I read for pleasure, information, inspiration, and to relieve boredom. I’ll read the cereal box at breakfast rather than stare into space.

Did I mention I’m a reader?

But I find a curious thing happening to me lately.

I still love to read, and there’s always more great material to absorb. Of course, with Amazon at my fingertips, I’ll never be at the end of my author wish list, and no one ever gets to the end of books.

There are always more books to read.

But somehow…somehow…right now, I need to write my words before I read someone else’s.

That doesn’t apply to everything. I read blog posts and other short pieces. I read news articles and recipes. I read Facebook posts and my Twitter feed.

But what I’m not reading, at the moment, are books. I can’t settle with anything. It’s a strange place to find myself. Most of my life, books have been a comfort, or a guide, or both.

But now I find myself wanting to write my book, use my voice. I’ve dipped a toe in these waters before with a couple of short works. I fulfilled a little personal goal, to be an author, even if it was through self-publishing. That isn’t what this experience is about. There’s a gulf between the first two forays into writing books and this one.

This one is the fulfillment, not of personal ambition, but of a personal quest. I’ve struggled with the question of purpose all my adult life, and I’ve finally solved the mystery, to my satisfaction.

I’m writing my story, the story of how I answered the question of purpose for myself, and sharing how others can do it too.

It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t fast.

But it was worth the wait.

And isn’t that the best feeling? When you know…you know…you’ve solved your puzzle, your riddle, finally figured “it” out.

The book is coming along nicely, words pouring out. I may be writing for myself more than anyone else. I don’t know, can’t know, until it’s done and out there, and I see the response.

For now, it’s enough that I want to do this, and that I have the tools.

The book will be on Kindle, hopefully before the end of the year, my Christmas present to myself, to meet my timeline.

And I know I’ll be ready to read again…I’ve already got a few books waiting!

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