In other words, its about the same as when I'm writing.
This month I have yet to read a single book. I think I may be going into withdrawal, in fact. I'll let you know in the next couple of days if I see any more symptems. Anyway, the point of the matter is, I haven't jumped into any one else's worlds, or grown attached to anyone elses characters in 21 days, and I should be feeling like I need to. Those books piled up should be calling to me. Begging me to pick them up, to read them. Condemning me for neglecting them.
Instead all of those voices have been shoved aside, their room claimed by my characters that are making their presence known. They've figured out that they have a limited time with my full attention, and they're fighting for it.
Now I'm falling into my own worlds. Getting caught up in the lives of my own characters (which are often vastly different that I originally planned for them. Who would have thought. And I don't want to pick up those books. I don't want to get caught up in another world, not while things in mine are so tense.
I think I realized this for the first time the other day. When I realized that I hadn't carried a book even in my bag the entire month, replaced as they were by the laptop that now travels with me everywhere in case I have time to get some writing done.
It was when this realization hit me that I truly began to believe that I am now more a writer than a reader. Rather than being the person that reads someone elses words and yells at their choices, I'm making my own. I'm putting myself out there instead of pretending that I don't have any characters bouncing around in my head.
Now I can't wait to discover just how many worlds are trapped in my brain, just waiting to make their way to the page and show themselves to other people.
I'll get back to the books in December. For now, I'm happy to be writing.