My Independence Weekend

I had not been reading fiction lately. In fact I had not been reading anything literary these past months, nor had I been watching plays nor movies. And we all know TV can hardly be considered literary. (Yes, I'm a snob.) The void was not immediately apparent, though, as my days were pretty much filled with words upon words of analyses of the ever-changing political landscape that was the Middle Kingdom. Yet my spur of the moment trip to Powerbooks on Saturday exposed the jarring hole. The realization was so sudden and unexpected. I had almost forgotten what I was missing.

Or perhaps I needed a justification for my purchase of the two books. I always feel the need to justify buying things, it's almost an illness. So I bought two books: a collection of short stories by the Canadian writer Carol Shields and a compilation of interviews of creative writers on the way they write, aptly titled, "The Way We Write." I couldn't wait to start reading them but it was late and I was tired so they had to wait.

I started on the interviews first, over a large flavored coffee at Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf on a bright Sunday afternoon. Again, something I hadn't done in a long time. There is something about the unfolding of people's stories that never fails to move me and, cliche of cliches, make me feel more human. But that has become a luxury.

Yet another workweek starts and I have to put off my humanity in favor of more important issues for more important people. Stories will have to wait.