Merrily we write along...

You'd think I like to break rules, or something.
Ask any published writer what the best route to being a published writer is, and chances are one of the signs on that route will say "read a lot". One of my favourite writers, Dan Simmons, goes so far as to claim that if you can't identify the opening passage of a Hemingway novel on sight, you haven't got what it takes.
Snotty bastard. Why should I read, much less commit to memory, the words of a guy cowardly enough not just to off himself, but to do it in the most spectacularly messy way imaginable?
Another of my writing idols, Stephen King, repeats the advice to read a lot, but at least he doesn't throw little pop quizzes at you..."have you read this? No? Then too bad, so sad, you'll never make it, hahahaha...."
Well, I do read a lot...sort of. I used to range across a wide variety of authors....granted, many of them were, how shall we say, thrust upon me in the course of my abbreviated scholastic career as an English major. Now, however, I tend to concentrate on about ten authors or so, devouring everything they put out, reading and re-reading until I have large portions of text semi-memorized.
As a reader, all I'm looking for is characters I care about doing interesting things. Most of the stories I was asked to read throughout high school and university were actually textbooks in the guise of novels: a nice turn of phrase here, a beautiful unifying thematic concept there, but boring, boring, BORING! In fact, To Kill a Mockingbird was one of the few things I read in school that I would willingly re-read now.
And most of the stuff I do read now would be dismissed by my English professors as so much hackery. I didn't much care for their views when they held me captive: I sure as hell don't care for them now.
Take the aforementioned Stephen King. He refers to himself as "the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and french fries"...and woefully underestimates himself. He is all but incapable, for one thing, of crafting a two-dimensional character: even his bit players come to life. He has written some real dreck over the years, but even his dreck holds reader interest. He's made a comfortable living, to say the least, won numerous awards, and most importantly, satisfied himself.

I'm toying with a novel about the end of the world. I'm about five thousand words in, and have some vague idea where I'm going with it, but I'm certainly not following the pattern King suggests of writing a thousand words a day. I drop in whenever I get a spare half hour. The manuscript has sat untouched for weeks at a time. A few days ago, I read what I'd written so far and expunged a couple of pages. At this rate, it'll be years before I get to shopping the finished ms. around...but I'll tell you one thing: it will get published, and I'll like its chances when it does.
As usual, I'm taking the hard road. And as usual, I'll be able to look back and say "I did it myyyyyyy waaaaaay...."