I have this terrible problem. I can not contain myself when I have a really good book in my hands. I read until I have devoured it. I throw myself into the world so fast and hard that it sends my head spinning. Every moment away from the book my heart aches to return to the comfort of those pages that I can understand. I can’t seem to grasp reality, because the world of the book has become my reality and everything else is just a bad dream.
Then, I read the last page and suddenly I am thrown back into a dull boring life of reality. I sit there, re-reading the last page unable to accept or understand that the book has come to an end. I wonder how it could come to an end, when it had become my reality, because reality does not end.
I feel like I have lost my best friend and my boyfriend. Like my world has been yanked out from under me, just when I was starting to settle in. It’s like losing everything in one split second as I read the last and final word. The last period laughs and taunts me, and the ache grows. You are left trying to figure out how to cope with losing that part of you, because that book has cemented it’s self into your very soul and now you are forced to rip it away.
Maybe I am just crazy and it only happens to me, but I actually get a little depressed and find it hard to do much of anything except contemplate what will happen next. The book I finished today part of a series that I have been reading for years now. Only the last few books have caused this kind of illness. I just can’t get enough of the world and the people in it. I want to be the people in it and I want to be the one that has to fight for my life everyday against the demons, vampires, witches, and what ever else sees me as a threat. I want to be the hero with great friends and a gorgeous boyfriend. How dare the book end and send me into this boring lonely life!
Now, I know that in a few days I will be back to normal and I will be okay with the reality set in front of me. Well, as okay with it as I was before, it will still suck and be totally lonely. But for now I will sulk and whine about how I want to bury myself in the book again. I will re-read the book again one day, but I have to pull away from it for now.
I seem to have this problem with reading in general though. I throw myself into a world that isn’t real, or at least everyone tells me it isn’t real. And when I come up for fresh air I feel like my heart is ripped from my chest and stomped into the ground while everyone shouts at me to grow up and get a grip. Let’s face it, reality is no where near has amazing as the worlds we read about in books. For the few of us that can be completely captivated by words on a page, reality can be hard to deal with. The words become pictures that play in front of us like a picture on the tv.
The vivid readers have a hard long life full of mystery and adventure. And all we have to do is sit in our comfy chair and watch the words dance for us.
As a writer, I can only hope to have half that kind of power on my readers. I want to cause an emptiness when they come to the end of a book and realize they have to wait for a new book to go back. I think that is why I became a writer, not to cause heartache, but to ease my own. When I finish writing a book it still leaves me feeling empty, but all I have to do is pick up the pen and start the next book if it’s a series. It is a beautiful thing being a creator of something that may captivate others the way I have been captivated myself.