The last few days have been writing light and reading heavy. I’ve blown through the rest of The Hunger Games trilogy. I’ve been totally engrossed in a series before, but none that made me so emotional. I can’t recall ever crying over a book. Some movies, but never a book. And I’m not a cryer, but this series did it. The first book was just a good read. The second one, Catching Fire, left me a little melancholy. By the end of Mockingjay, I was a complete mess.
My first creative writing teacher used to always say,”Your writing should say something important about living and dying.” Suzanne Collins achieves that. I am used to reading with a certain level of detachment. It’s that part me that knows no matter what happens in a story, it’s fiction. It didn’t really happen, at least not that exact way. While I know that’s the case here as well, I was unable to maintain that distance from the story. I felt it all.
And so, I am totally inspired. Good writing always does that to me. It amps up my ambition making me want to do more than just write. I want to write something great which takes me right back to learning the craft. I’ve been deep into John Truby‘s The Anatomy of Story. Of all the last minute things I wanted to accomplish by the end of round, finishing it is probably the only one that will get done by Thursday. I’m cool with that.
Hope all is well with you guys. We’re almost at the end. Until last check-in.