by Jeffe Kennedy
The Word Whore who picked this topic - and I'm not naming names - described this week's theme of Fetishes as "any object, activity, etc., to which one is excessively or irrationally devoted - our non-writing hobbies."
My first response is: um, non-writing hobbies?
I used to have hobbies. Lots of hobbies, actually. I had a flower garden so beautiful and extensive it made the town Garden Tour. (Okay, it was a small town, but, hey...) I spent most of every warm-weather weekend in the garden, building character. Of course we had a shorter growing season than Fairbanks, Alaska, but there it is.
Since we moved to Santa Fe and have our self-sustaining xeriscape? Not so much.
Sewing used to be a huge part of my life, which included a near-obsessive habit of collecting fabric. I quilted. A lot. I even made a king-sized wedding ring quilt for one of my college roomies.
When we moved, I gave away the sewing machine and all but one trunk of fabric.
I practiced martial arts for many years, probably spending about 25 hours a week taking and teaching classes, not counting time spent training on my own. Now I do a little Tai Chi and meditate here and there.
I spent a lot of time in the past fixing up the house. I laid tile. David and I renovated a coal bin into an office. I painted walls, installed fixtures, repaired furniture. The new house? Haven't painted a thing.
All of that has been replaced by writing time. It became necessary, really. I needed to pick up my pace of writing, to concentrate more on longer stories. My day job already consumes a huge chunk of time. Everything else now goes to writing.
With one exception.
It's an old fetish, one I can never give up. I became addicted to little pieces when I was very young - I blame my mother. She'd give me some before bedtime, then I started sneaking it on my own. I've lost sleep over it, ignored friends and family, failed exams because I just had to have a little more.
Oh yeah - you all know what I mean.
Ah, reading. I shall never, ever give you up!
