WORDS in ACTION

I’m not one to read late into the night unless I’ve reached the closing pages of a novel. I can lift and lay a book until the point when it’s finally got me in its grip and then I read while I eat, while I cook, while I wait for the bus. When children were small and objected to my attention being directed towards anything other than them, I occasionally locked myself in the loo to enjoy the last pages in peace.
Plot alone won’t do it; it’s got to be decently crafted with characters convincingly rendered. But the addictive pull of narrative is so strong that I become lazy about reading non-fiction unles it’s directly connected to an issue I’m really fired up about.  I have a queue of books that I really do want to read but which somehow end up taking second place to the next fix.  So, I’ve blocked off time this summer to write, yes, but also to read. Non-fiction. When I’ve read the David Guterson I’ve just borrowed…