The best advice for writers?

Today  -  a few thoughts not about writing  but reading.
 I take it as a given that all  writers are avid readers so it always comes as a surprise  - no; even a shock – to me  when someone seeking advice with their stories admits they do not read a great
deal.
 This has happened more than once  and my brain struggles to compute the information. It reminds me of a  conversation with a fellow author a while back who explained why he gave up  working with a university. He said that too often he gave students a list of
books to read…only to discover that a large percentage would not  bother.
 Again - I was completely  nonplussed.

 Though I completely understand that  not everyone wants to write (it is a mad, crazy business and we should all be  certified), I struggle much harder to understand any reluctance to read. Quite frankly I still get palpitations
when I think of the sense of loss when my two boys were tiny and I struggled to  find enough space for books.  I
worked five days a week in television at the time, was always short of sleep and  something had to give. But my goodness – it was a  struggle.

 I think my addiction to books is,  in part, a frustration born of my biggest regret in life. No. Stop. Regret is
the wrong word. Sadness-more appropriate. The truth is I never got to read  English Literature at university, switching instead to a course in journalism  which would pay me a salary while training on a newspaper. The story is pretty  simple. I studied English, French and German at A level (for the excuse to call  reading-“studying”) and somehow managed to rock Three A grades when that was  still pretty rare.  This won me a place to read English at York ( and also Exeter). But my mother died of cancer  while I was taking my A levels and I had (understandably, I guess) something of  a meltdown. My father was moving to Devon and I lost confidence at the thought  of moving to York (knowing no one) and Devon too ( knowing no one). So I  switched to a course in journalism near London which would allow me to pitch for  a training place on a paper in Kent near existing
friends.

 This worked brilliantly career-wise but I was too young to realise how sad I would come to feel later about missing  out on that three-year space to just read and study literature. I guess I have  been over-compensating ever since.

 Perhaps it is why I feel not the  slightest pang of guilt that I am lucky enough in my current chapter in life to  find more space for reading.   Working as a freelance writer, my only challenge is to balance my reading  and writing time. This, I find, is a fluid equation controlled entirely by  commissions and the mortgage. Just as soon as I have brought in enough dosh, my  head is straight in a book. “During the day?” people ask,  aghast.

 Why ever not?
Just now my elder son is on a gap  year ahead of reading English and American Literature at uni (you can only guess  at how thrilled I am about THAT) and he is working through a long list of books  engraved on a little metal bookmark I gave him as a present. I find that I have  read the vast majority  myself long ago but  am thoroughly enjoying the  excuse to re-read them as I watch him, nose in book, eager for my  thoughts.

 He is also the first to “borrow” the books recommended by my book club. So I am going to set up a new insert to
the column on the right to list current recommendations so he can follow them  online.

 Just now, in case you’re interested also, I am reading Anne Tyler’s “The Beginner’s Goodbye” and The Liars’ Gospel by Naomi Alderman. I have also been re-reading some Kurt  Vonnegut ( from that bookmark list) and am recommending to anyone who will  listen -The Dinner by Herman Koch and Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl. I have also
  just finished Eudora Welty’s The Optimist’s daughter which was one of those  delicious, spur- of- the- moment purchases after reading an article online  about her short stories.
             
New writers sometimes ask me if reading the works of great authors  does not, in the end, become discouraging to me as a writer. Again – this  confuses me.  For I write  commercial fiction, not with any “great expectations” (ouch) or competitive, literary snobbery  but rather  because writing does not feel optional. 
It is just what I  do.
             
But reading? Oh my goodness. That is always a journey I set out on with very highest  expectations. They are not always realised, of course, but- no matter. For I  never forget the moments when they are. I vividly remember the strange weeks of  dreams when I was in my John Fowles phase. I can still feel the punch to my  stomach the first time I read that simple yet devastating phrase “so it goes” from  KV.

 And I will never,  ever  forget the ache while facing the“reveal” in life of Pi  years  and years back. So moved was I, I got up from my chair and began pacing around  the room, book in hand, because I simply could not keep still.

 So – yes. I am  completely at one with all those writers who have over and over again stated  the  obvious. That the very best  advice for anyone starting out on this wonderful journey of writing  is  very basic (but also very enjoyable)  indeed.

 Namely: Read…(as much as you can, whenever you can and to hell with the hoovering).


 

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