The thing about reading a really great book is that it makes me realize just how far I have to go to improve my own writing. I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job and then I go and read something really wonderfully and richly written, like Deborah Harkness' "Shadow of Night" and I think that maybe I should just give up on my own writing altogether, because I'll never be that good.
But then, when I really think about it, most writers who are fortunate enough to get their work published are not nearly as good as Deborah Harkness at putting you so deeply into the sights, sounds, smells, feel and taste of a story's characters, time and place.
It's kind of like how I try to remind myself when I'm at the beach in my conservative bathing suit, wishing for even more fabric to cover my flabby thighs, that I am not the worst-looking woman chasing after her child in the sand that day. And all I really have to do to feel better about myself at the beach is keep exercising, attempt to eat better and/or buy a more flattering bathing suit.
So, I guess that means I'll keep going, keep practicing my "show, don't tell" writing, and hope for the best.
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