Whether you’re a writer or a reader, you may have heard that in order to write well you need to read voraciously. I started learning to read at four years old and never stopped, but my interest in fiction wanes. My preference is nonfiction and I seem to always have several books going at once. But I’ve always trusted the experts who say if you write fiction you need to read fiction.
But where to start?
I asked the RWA writers who they recommended. They bombarded me with the names of their favorite authors. I wrote the names down and decided that the next chance I got I’d swing by the library and pick up some books.
During those years I was a literal soccer mom. One day before I picked my daughter up from school to take her straight to practice, I stopped at the library. With very little time, I pulled out my list and grabbed the first titles I found.
I hardly looked at the books as I grabbed, but was already a little nervous someone I knew would spot me there and ask what I was reading. The romance section was not my comfort zone. Not that I’d never read romance. In fact, during my teenage years I couldn’t get enough of those books, but it had been a while.
Happy for self check-out, I left the library with ease and drove to get my daughter. It was a cold fall day and instead of getting out of my car while she played, I decided to stay out of the wind and read in my car. Without even looking I picked up the first book on the pile and began.
Oh!
The romance didn’t start slow. Within very few pages there was already sex, and in shock I glanced at the cover. It was black and red, with a woman nibbling a man’s neck. It was called Dark Lover. I’m pretty sure that even though I was alone I blushed. And I kept reading.
Sometime later I looked up from the book, stretched and looked around. In the car next to me another mom was also reading. I could see that her reading tastes differed from my own. She was reading the Bible!
The Bible!
I have no problem with anyone reading the Bible or any other religious text, but the contrast to what I read caused acute embarrassment. But at the same time I was already hooked and didn’t want to stop reading. I moved the book lower in my lap and hoped that she hadn’t noticed what I held. I needed to continue.
After all, it was for research.
Have you ever been embarrassed by what you were caught reading? I’d love to hear some of your stories. Comment below or send me an email at grace@gracesayre.com.
