I have been on a reading binge lately and it has been spectacular. I have finally caught up on the list that’s been sitting by my bed for months.
And in the lot, were some amazing books. Another great YA, Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr, You belong to Me by Maria Santos(seriously, amazing author). Some so so books, but all entertaining and all of which I finished.
Some books I read and I can see how the author wrote it, can figure out the pulsepoints, almost get a sense for what the author was thinking, how they plotted it. A peek behind the door, so to speak, and not one that in any way affects my enjoyment of the book. Other books just read like pure magic, effortless as if they tripped off the keyboard and those books, other than making me envious, completely intimidate me.
They are usually the kind of books I don’t write. Heavily character based, deeply emotional, and I know they are as intricately plotted, if not more so, than my books, and I know sweat, blood and tears went into them, and I believe that not in a million years could I write a book like it.
You Belong to Me is one of those books. I adored reading it. And I’d sit down to write something in a similar vein and be lost by page three.
I don’t even wish I could write it, because I get a thrill from writing a scene where my characters are in danger, and the atmosphere is tense, and I’m working at reversing an expectation and the words flow and I can picture what’s happening in my head.
My strengths and limitations have really honed the books I’ve written and while I’m constantly working on my limitations, I’m always going to focus on my strengths, because those scenes are easier for me to write, certainly more fun and usually require the least editing. (that’s my lazy side talking)
And right now, in my surprisingly zen state of being, I’m really OK with that.