Perhaps reading helped me heal?

I’m feeling more or less human again, so that’s a plus. But for the past two days I had little to no energy, which means sleeping, reading, and watching TV were about the only activities I could manage. Thus I did end up plunging through New Moon (not as good as Twilight) and Eclipse (not as good as Twilight but better than New Moon).

I also took some time to read a few speeches and essays by Alice Hoffman, who wrote the book behind one of my favorite movies, Practical Magic. I’m horribly embarrassed to admit I haven’t read any of her books, despite wanting to, but I loved a lot of what she had to say in these articles.

From “On Being a Woman, A Writer, and A Citizen of the World”:

Professor Guerard, who was both a scholar and a novelist, believed that the most important aspect of being a writer was the writer’s voice, and that it was this unique aspect – so original and singular it was like a fingerprint – that made for great writing. The writer’s voice was made up of childhood experience, childhood readings, adult reading and experience, along with dreams and desires. A writer often began to find his or her voice by imitating the writers with whom he or she felt an emotional connection.

From “Sustained By Fiction While Facing Life’s Facts”:

I wrote to find beauty and purpose, to know that love is possible and lasting and real, to see day lilies and swimming pools, loyalty and devotion, even though my eyes were closed and all that surrounded me was a darkened room. I wrote because that was who I was at the core, and if I was too damaged to walk around the block, I was lucky all the same. Once I got to my desk, once I started writing, I still believed anything was possible.

From “Nothing Is As Healing As a Book”:

Often the people who succeed, in spite of the difficulties they may face, have one thing in common. They read. They are the people who can escape into a book, who know there are other worlds to be found. They are the ones who carry books with them to movie theaters and street corners, who lock themselves in the bathroom to read when everyone in the house is too noisy, who open a new chapter when the world outside their windows is too horrible or disappointing or simply too fast. They have hope because they know that once upon a time there was a boy or a girl, a woman or a man, who managed to survive. Somewhere, among the pages and the print, there was someone who found solace or justice or truth, or maybe just a chance to tell her own story.