Every now and then, I meet a writer who doesn’t read.
I’m not talking about writers who are too busy, frazzled, or exhausted to pick up this year’s Great American Novel; I’m talking about writers who have the time, energy, and resources to read and refuse, because – well, because of a number of reasons:
There may be tiny kernels of truth or logic in all of these points, but I admit I never quite know what to say when I hear them. Personally, I learn something new – more often, a thousand new somethings – about the craft of writing whenever I read another author’s work. But the lost opportunity to learn from a master isn’t the only reason to pick up a book now and then.
Because when…
