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In my last article, I explained that I’m something of an obsessive reader. Whether it’s for fun or information, I feel at home among written words. When I enter someone’s home or office, you can bet the bookshelves are the first thing to catch my attention. I may not always judge a book by its cover, but I will certainly judge a person by the books they own– or at least form an initial impression.

For all the reading I do, however, I spend surprisingly little time writing.

Perhaps it’s a bit inaccurate to say that I don’t write much, because I compose text in my head constantly — nearly any time I’m not actively reading, in fact (perhaps one reason I read so much is simply to quiet my internal chatter). Some of it is just silly, and some is narrating my life to myself, but a lot of it is actually stuff that I’d like to get written down and out into the world.

Unfortunately, my brain’s word-output circuits are much glitchier than the input circuits. To my dismay, after years of trying, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have absolutely no knack whatsoever for writing fiction. I’ve put together some pretty decent pieces of nonfiction, though, if I do say so myself. But it’s a rare experience. Gettting words out of my head and onto paper or screen requires a delicate mixture of energy, motivation, executive functioning…

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Nana Bookwyrm
Nana Bookwyrm

Written by Nana Bookwyrm

Rhymes with iguana 😄. Neurodivergent bookworm, respite caregiver, artist/crafter/artisan, nature nerd, and various hobbies/interests NOS.

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