Breathless

Every now and again, I read a book that leaves me breathless with its sheer brilliance and I am both uplifted and saddened.  Uplifted because, I didn’t just read the book, I lived it and breathed it for the days it took me to reach the last page.  Saddened because it made me feel so inferior as a writer.  Yet again, I begin to question this burning need I have to write at all costs.

Some of my favourite books spur me on to continue with what I think of as my vocation.   They remind me what it is to engage the reader and they reinforce my desire to write.

But then, along comes Gillian Mears with Foal’s Bread and a lump forms in my throat.  As I turn the pages, my breath catches and my heart races and I am astounded by the sheer beauty of the prose.  For a time after reading it, I am numbed and stupefied; unable to put pen to paper or finger to keyboard.

Despondent now, yet I continue to write.  No choice.

NOTE: Mine is an uncorrected proof copy that I was lucky enough to win (thanks Allen & Unwin and ANZ LitLovers). 

The answer to Friday’s Fictionary Dictionary… TANTAULUS is a locked case for wine bottles in which their contents are tantalizingly visible.