Why I Find It So Difficult To Read


500-ish Words Of Me Justifying Why I Am Way Behind Schedule


In 2016, I read a total of 22 books. They ranged from short novellas to mammoth reads (You can check my Goodreads if you’re interested in what they were) and all in all I was rather pleased with myself. I was 22 for most the year, so it made sense that I read a book for each year of my life – plus it made my target easy to remember. So, when I realised that I hit the target without a mad rush at the end of the year it was only logical to make this year’s target 23.

So far not so good.

As of today, I have only just finished my second book. That makes me 4 books behind. In truth, I’ve found it very, very difficult to read. At first, I just thought I was picking the wrong book – I can’t read books of the same genre one after another. I get bored and the similarities seem much more glaring than they usually do. That’s not fair on that book. So, I try to mix it up.

It’s rare that I give up on a book; mainly because it means I’ll have some sort of negativity with it and it’ll put me off wanting to pick it up again. This year, though, I have abandoned seven. Seven poor books that I’m going to feel a bit uncomfortable about picking back up because I gave in.

Maybe I’m still suffering the after effects of my degree. Although, it has been nearly two years since I graduated – not sure how long I can keep using this excuse. I suppose part of me will be forever scarred with the impulse to tear apart a plot and see how each section was crafted. Reading, and writing, and watching films have all been affected by what I learned at university. I find it very difficult to just enjoy art like that without feeling the need to ask a hundred questions as to why and how and what was the inspiration was and how it impacted the creative process.

There is also a sense of impatience when I read. I would go as far as say that sometimes I enjoy a book more if I know loosely how it’s going to end – weird I know. In my defence, this is not as bad as skipping to the end and reading that (The person who does this knows exactly who I’m talking about). I don’t like not knowing, so venturing into a new book means that I have to take a chance on a book based on someone else’s description. That makes strangely nervous. I don’t really understand it.

Sometimes I get frustrated with a book, in a good way I suppose. It’ll inspire me or spark an idea so vivid that my mind will abandon everything and it’s all I’ll think about for the next two weeks and I won’t read anymore. When I get back to the book eventually, I can only compare it to the imaginary book I’ve written in my head. Sorry to all the inspiring books I’ve abandoned – You were too inspiring.dT9rEj5Gc

The last and final reason – sometimes I just don’t want to read. That thought just makes me sad. I love books but now and then I’m not in the mood, they don’t entertain me at all. Unfortunately, that can last for nearly two months.

Let’s hope it doesn’t stay like that.










Images were found here – Clip Art Library


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