Four Days

I did it again. I got so absorbed in reading a book that I haven't worked on writing anything of my own for the last couple of days.

After a long, slow start, I finished reading Stephenie Meyer's "The Host" this weekend. Since I'm such a big fan of her "Twilight" series (yes, I'm a "Twi-hard" for better or worse), I've been wanting to read her other novel for a while. So three weeks ago when I saw it at the library, I checked it out.

I was resistant as the story began. The first 150 or so of the 619-pages were slow. Intriguing to a degree, but very slow. I read bits and pieces here and there until I got about halfway through and I almost couldn't put it down. I read the second half just this weekend.

It wasn't the addicting, guilty pleasure of "Twilight" (or "New Moon" or "Eclipse" -- my favorite -- or "Breaking Dawn") and the ending was somewhat predictable, but I had to know how she got to the end of the story. It was a satisfying journey.

But, now that it's over, the guilt is setting in. The first pang came when I pulled up my blog and realized I hadn't written here since Thursday. The second pang of guilt hit me immediately after that realization when I figured it's been at least that long since I've worked on any of my other writing projects.

So, tomorrow, with only Stephen King's "On Writing" and a couple of magazines still waiting to be finished, I anticipate sitting here adding to this blog and focusing on writing my own books. It was nice to have so much time to read this weekend, but it would've felt great to jot down my own words too.