I've been thinking recently about why I don't read more. My reading list is endless and ever-growing, as I'm sure is true of all book lovers. I don't really lack for time or energy to do so among all my other commitments. I could certainly prioritise reading more over catching up on my TV shows or playing video games, which is how I often otherwise spend my down time. But I often find myself choosing not to read over other forms of relaxation, because I often simply want to turn my brain off for a while.
And as both a lover of stories and a writer, this makes me feel, well... guilty. I know reading is as important to good writing as much as the practise of writing. You see it mentioned in nearly every piece of writing advice out there: to write well you must also read, a lot and often. It's not that I don't read for pleasure at all, because I definitely do... but I don't do it as much as I'd like or feel that I should. I've been making a concerted effort to fix that, because my reading list is beginning to get out of control.
Still, the idea that I'd choose not to read over other entertainment is strange to me. I read voraciously as a child. I preferred books to people (and still do, quite honestly), and I lived in the library growing up. I spent most summers there. I'd check out a huge stack of books, hungrily read through them all, and then go back for another round week after week.
But that was before the internet, before adult responsibilities, before a lot of things which now make me pick and choose carefully how I must spend my time. Not that that has ever stopped me from having many sleepless nights where I just had to get to the end of whatever book I was engrossed with at the time. I haven't had nearly as many of those in a long while, though.
I think what I've come to realise is that I do read all the time, just not in the same way. The more my life has revolved around the internet, social media, endless blogs and news articles, etc. the more I find the thought of reading for pure pleasure a task as opposed to simple relaxation. I spend all day reading words on a screen, so much that the thought of reading for fun seems like effort. How depressing is that?
As I'm ironically complain about reading blogs on a blog, I'm going to challenge myself now to read a lot more books instead of other forms of entertainment. And instead of some of my sometimes wandering internet time, for sure. I'll never be at my childhood levels of reading again, obviously, but I'm wondering if I can do a book a week. Maybe every two weeks to start and see how I go. So let's say 12 books over six months.
I'll post progress and mini-reviews on my Facebook and Twitter to keep things accountable under the hashtag #12book6.
The list as it stands, maybe kind of in order:
1) The Name of the Wind - Patrick Rothfuss
2) The Bell Jar - Sylvia Plath
3) The Ocean at the End of the Lane - Neil Gaiman
4) Blackbirds - Chuck Wendig
5) The Time Traveler's Wife - Audrey Niffenegger
6) Daughter of the Forest - Juliet Marillier
7) The First Man in Rome - Colleen McCollough
8) Banewreaker - Jacqueline Carey
9) The Paying Guests - Sarah Waters
10) The Gunslinger - Stephen King
11) God's War - Kameron Hurley
12) The Killing Moon - N.K. Jemisin
Wish me luck!
No comments:
Post a Comment