It’s a funny thing about writing. It more or less rules my life. So, I don’t really have any other outside interests. There’s family, of course. But hobbies? No time. Reading? I read voraciously. Anything and everything. Currently, I’m reading a YA novel, The Ghost and the Goth, a hilarious novel while reading Hooked, a book on writing fiction that engages a reader from the first line.
While reading could be considered an interest, mine is inherently tied to my writing. Even my friendships are associated with my writing. My friends are all writers. No one else truly understands the idiosyncracies of this life or of the writer’s personality. We’re both interesting to live with and a pain in the keister.
It’s not that I haven’t tried outside interests. I scrapbooked for several years before I went back to school. Unfortunately, I can’t find time for it anymore. I teach six days a week and on the seventh day I’m doing laundry and playing catch up as well as cramming in as much writing as possible. It’s not that I don’t think writers can have outside interests. Some can. I’m just not one of them.