The question is, when your one particular talent is reading fiction, what do you do with your life? You are no good as a critic, since you love to simply flow with the writer’s thought like a leaf in a stream, meandering. When you tried to take up the study of literature, you cringed; thinking Deconstruction is the same is Destruction.
You think, I should do this too, I should write, I should be the one making people feel that the paper world is better, higher, brighter, smarter than the real world. Then you find out, it is hard work! It is mind-breaking work. It is work where self-esteem lies entirely upon fortuitous thoughts. Where you have 5 am highs but more often 2 pm lows. Your mind races all the time. Not one thought you have is spared scrutiny. You analyse for readability and suitability. Your mind is your office. There is no escape. Not to mention your bank account woes dance in tandem with your writer’s block.
What do you do then? How do you just read, read and read and still be able to build a life? Is there some new magic profession out there where you can?