THE MOST IMPORTANT THINGS
Success came late in life to me, and I may savor it all the more keenly for that. After years of making no money, barely hanging on to being a published writer, I finally achieved a measure of job security. I don’t take it for granted.
I’m often asked – in various ways – “What’s the most wonderful thing about being a best-selling writer?” I don’t even have to think twice about the answer.
In all honesty, I can tell you the two things I love the most. Here they are: I get to buy any book I want, and I get to meet other writers all the time. These are two cool things. I enjoy the hell out of both of them.
And because of all the writers I meet and like, there’s a never-ending stream of new books to read. I’m always behind. I like it that way. I have nightmares about being stuck in a long-term situation with nothing to read. What if my elevator sticks? What if I’m on a Ferris wheel and it stops turning? What if I finish my book and my plane has to circle for forty-five minutes? I can only read “American Way” so many times.
That’s why I carry an ereader when I travel. I simply can’t run out. I save the airline magazine for take-off and touch-down, and in between I work my way through the complete works of Mary Roberts Rinehart, or something much more current. So among the books I buy when I please, I now number ebooks.
I didn’t come to this decision easily. But since I can’t make other writers fly with me to entertain me with their intelligent remarks and observations, and I can’t pack enough books to safely buffer me from the horror of running out of print, I was forced to purchase an ereader, in self-defense. My alternative was hiring someone to carry a suitcase full of books around with me. Since my poor assistant/best friend/ travelling companion Paula already has enough to do, the ereader was the answer.
Now that I can go meet with other writers quite often, and get an influx of new reading recommendations, and I have the means to carry almost infinite reading material in my purse . . . well, life couldn’t get any better. Besides, when I return home, my bookcase is waiting. And it’s full.