The past few days have been filled with addiction. An obsession so strong I found myself staying up late and getting up early. I even found myself going to sleep with someone else’s characters in my head rather than my own.

I read a book from cover to cover in three days. I haven’t done that since vacation in June.

It’s usually a half hour here, twenty minutes there and ‘presto change-o’, two weeks later, I’ve read a book. Reading is more sporadic than writing these days. Especially when working full time.

My bigger concern was that it’s been a long time since I’ve listened to a book. We recently bought a new car with the syncing tech that I barely begin to understand which means my husband has NO comprehension whatsoever.

I miss listening to a book. If you’ve never done it, I find there’s nothing like being cocooned in the voice of a great narrator as the author’s words dance in your head to form the crystal clear picture he or she meant for you to see.  For me it might be Rosalind Landor reading Mary Balogh or the sexy voice of Sebastian York reading…the telephone book. Seriously, that man has read so many contemporary romance novels I’ve listened to, I can tell you the authors, but the titles…when you hear his voice, who cares!

But that being said, there are books where the narrator has killed the book – and not in a good way. Some narrators like Rosalind can do a great job of voices of the opposite sex; others, not so much. And some voices just grate on you, and not matter how beautiful the words, the voice ruins it. I cite the narrator in the The Borrower by Rebecca Makkai.

So, my goal today, besides working closer to the end of my first draft, is to listen to an audio book again today. I’ll commit to spending five minutes in the morning figuring out my phone audio apps synced with the car. Today I being listening again.

Now onto the next book to read…and finish that first draft…and finish my revisions.