Reading at a gallop has its pluses. I still make marginal notes and highlight things, making cryptic scratches down the side of each page, whose legend will be forgotten long before the book is read. But knowing another book is already waiting, I do not fear the conclusion of the one I’m reading, and allow myself to grow attached to the characters, circumstances, and places the author offers up, making myself available to the heartbreak and triumph that each one will face. The benefit? The emotional roller coaster is short-lived. The characters rearrange my mental furniture for only so long, and I pretend I am available to other things when the course-induced reading season has ended.
But what I would be available to is writing. The downside of reading at a gallop is that I don’t talk back to the characters or author with characters and authority of my own. I pretend this is because I am not a fiction writer. I also pretend that I agree with those who believe I have something to say. But God truly knows, I’ve got no thing to say and when I fully renounce myself to this entirely felicitous state of affairs, I will no longer write sentences like this one and I will instead become a scribe under orders and become the vessel Holy Spirit will pour into and through whatever S/He sees fit.