To Read or Not to Read... Is That Even a Question?!

At the risk of overburdening the blog with posts about how and what we are reading, I feel compelled to share with you my latest thoughts on this subject. Well, sort of. My post is actually about what I haven’t been reading, and why.

I haven’t read a book in about two months. For me, this is catastrophic. Reading is my number one most very favorite thing to do in the whole world ever. If I could pick my dream job, it would be to read professionally. (Well, second only to directing a nonprofit program that encourages writers to discover their creative potential by writing a novel in a month, of course.)

Not reading is like saying, “I haven’t eaten popcorn in two months.” (To explain, I eat a lot of popcorn. A LOT. So not eating popcorn for two months would be like saying I haven’t read a book in two months. Oh. Wait.) How did I get here?

Since the time I was a tot, and read Go Dog Go for the first time, I have been A Reader, capital A capital R. If I am into a book, regardless of quality, I think about it all the time, and tend to structure my day around ways to read more, and soon. I can count on one hand the number of books I have abandoned because I just wasn’t that into it. I never read two books at once—that would be book adultery!

I am one of those people who reads while crossing the street. (That’s about as risky as I get in my day-to-day life…) I read while cooking dinner (don’t worry; during the stirring portion of preparation, not the chopping). I try to reserve about an hour every night for reading before I go to sleep.

Or I used to do these things. But like I said, my reading ground to a very distinct and super-tragic halt.

So why the drought? What warranted this hiatus? It’s not exactly something you can take to the doctor, is it? (Well doc, I have lost the urge to read. Is it my thyroid?) I jest, but this worried me, so I did some very serious introspection into the possible root causes.

One thing I can confirm in my self-analysis was that this phenomenon wasn’t for lack of trying. I picked up three books in a row—each by an award-winning or favorite author—in an effort to find that magical alchemy of engagement, that moment when the book casts its spell and I am irreversibly hooked. But after the third attempt and subsequent failure, I kind of gave up.

I have been even busier and more stressed than usual, which breeds in me an easily-distracted and fidgety demeanor. That runs counter to the relaxation and ability to let the story lead that is so necessary for reading and its transformative effects. It’s like I lost the ability to succumb.

In my overwrought state, I turned to cheaper, more instantly gratifying pursuits: Scrabble on my phone, reading IMDB updates (also on my phone), checking Facebook like a maniac. A maniac, I tell you! Oh, and Dancing with the Stars. (What?! It was a really good season.) It pains me to admit this. Forgoing my lifelong passion in favor of some iPhone apps? Oh, the treachery. But it’s true.

So last week, tired and missing my literary adventures sorely, I started turning off my phone when I got home, and vowed to give the latest forgotten book at my bedside one more try.

This may not be the right book for my comeback (it the fourth in a series about the career and cases of a Scottish detective, and my speedy and frankly reckless reading habits are hindering my ability to remember the particulars of the previous books in the series…). But the important thing is that I am reading. Every night. Not as before, with the same level of engagement and excitement, but reading nevertheless.

I recently went to the used bookstore and picked up some likely candidates to keep my momentum going—more award-winning and favorite authors to stoke that fire that has dwindled in these months.

Wish me luck! And tell me, what book has lit a fire in you recently?

Photo by Flickr user Wesley Fryer.