What's Next?

I was thinking about what it means to ask someone to read something you wrote. I guess it's asking a lot. Everyone is different, but myself, I really only have a few, finite minutes a day when I have the time, energy, and concentration to read. To me, those are the most precious minutes of the day.

So maybe asking someone to read something you wrote—particularly something book-length—is not only presumptuous, but inappropriate. I suppose one way to look at it is, you can make someone aware of the writing, but not demand, expect, or even desire that they read it. I guess that's the way I want to be treated, as a reader.

But then I wonder, does it make sense even to write anymore—particularly long things like novels? There are so many books written already that I want to read, I'm sure I will reach the end of my life only having read a fraction of them. And then there is re-reading, which, to me, is really important. And then there is talking to friends. And then there is walking in the woods.

Right now I'm committed to finishing a long piece of writing I started writing over ten years ago. I can only hope I finish it in my lifetime. If I do, then I will be faced with a decision: should I start working on another long story? Maybe it would make more sense for me to do something—anything—else.

I suppose if I do spend my best hours and energy on writing something, you can be sure that it's something I really want to do. It's not a decision based on habit, recommendation, reputation, illusion, or economics. Maybe I won't, but if I do, there must be some reason for it, because I'd rather be just about anywhere else than in this chair.