I’ve read hundreds, if not thousands, of books. That’s not a boast; that’s the result of 30+ years of voraciously reading everything I could get my hands on.
In high school, the library was well stocked with Asimov, Heinlein, and Piers Anthony’s Xanth novels. I burned through all of those in a single semester.
The advent of the ebook was a dream come true, especially since American Samoa has no bookstores that carry novels. This is true even today.
My very first ebook reader was an iPod mini. I would carefully format text files to upload as notes. A Sapir & Murphy Destroyer novella ran to 6 files. I even read the Eye of the World on it since my mass market paperback edition was falling apart at the spine from so many re-reads.
And now that I’m actually trying to write something, there’s a tension there because I know what good writing looks like. And it’s not what I’m typing, that’s for sure.
I can barely plot out an outline without thinking of at least one novel with the same story. It’s nerve wracking.
And yet, I have an old story that I wrote in long hand that was unapologetic fanfic based on Bill Baldwin’s Helmsman Saga. It was horrible, but it was something. And it’s about 2000 words more than I have right now.
I guess I should just shut up and write.