A Writerly Predicament
So this is my predicament: I feel I'm supposed to be writing. Writing lots. But I hate writing. My solution: Procrastination by way of reading. Reading seems to be the only escape from the arduous task of writing that my conscience will allow me. Reading is, after all, research for writing, right? Reading is the other side of the writing coin, and all writers should also be readers. That's my justification, but I'm looking nervously over my shoulder as I bury my nose in my books. I feel I'm at a crossroads in my life's journey. Or maybe taking a short detour, off the beaten path, that's bound to lead, eventually, back to the main highway. I'm pretty sure the detour is part of the "rest" God has called me to right now, but I suspect it won't be long before I am catapulted back into the writer's world again. I have no idea what that catapult will look like, or when it will sneak up behind m...