Re-discovering My Joy of Reading

After being unable to read fiction for years, I'm suddenly on a tear...

One thing nobody in my profession talks about much is how writing full-time sucks the joy of reading right out of you. It’s a miserable feeling, because every writer gets into the field because they love books and words. All we dream of is the time when we’ll be able to immerse ourselves in books and words nonstop. And then that time comes, and after hours spent at your writing desk, hammering away at your own manuscripts, you discover that the very last thing you want to do is read somebody else’s work.

You know that old saying about a shoemaker’s children going barefoot… or is it a doctor’s children who are always sick? Whether you’re talking about cobblers or otolaryngologists, the effect is the same, and it applies to writers as much as it does to people in any other profession: once you reach the “free time” portion of your day or your week or your month (depending on how many responsibilities you have), the last thing you want to do is whatever you do as a job

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For writers, the necessity of endorsing others’ work compounds that effect. We all have to read other people’s books to offer words of support, which may or may not help that book sell. I’ve nearly always enjoyed every book I’ve read for an endorsement, and I was glad I read all of them, but filling your reading time with books you didn’t choose to read for yourself, but were instead assigned to read by your publisher… it further saps the pleasure out of reading.

That’s a problem, because an artist can’t create unless they are also interacting with their art form… which means for writers that need to read as much as possible if our own work is to be any good. Yet the UGH I DON’T WANNA effect is real, and sometimes too powerful to overcome.

I know how important it is for me to read. I also know I’m fighting against a very real psychological obstacle. For years now, I’ve been collecting lots and lots of books that piqued my interest with their titles and descriptions, or because I’ve read that author already and know I love their work. I want to read all of them, but every time I’ve thought, “I should read,” my whole being just goes UGH NO

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As exhibit A, consider my bookshelf. There it is, so pretty and inviting. It’s even my favorite color, teal. And next to it, my nice, cozy reading chair, which I occupy far less often than I should. (This view, by the way, is what you’d see if you sat down at my writing desk and then turned 180 degrees in my squeaky green writing chair. This is the other side of my office, which, as you can tell by the brick chimney structure and the weirdly slanted ceiling, is in the garret of a haunted mansion in Victoria, BC. Where else would a writer live?)

I know how important constant reading is to my development and expression as an artist. So a few weeks ago, I finally decided it was a matter of professional importance to solve my reading problem once and for all. I needed to re-discover my old joy in reading, and start working my way through the bookshelf. Yes, that’s right. With the exception of the very topmost shelf, which holds my childhood favorites, my own books, and the stack of Ali Smith’s Seasonal Quartet, and the first eight titles on the middle shelf, this whole freaking bookcase is still completely unread. I’ve got a lot of work to do.

But I figured out a way to make myself do the work! My workday now includes a minimum of one hour of reading time. Yes! It is now my JOB to READ, as well as to write. I have managed to convince myself that I can’t begin writing until I’ve completed my reading for the day. Unless I get that reading in first thing, I’m doing it wrong. So far, this has worked. After approximately five years (!!!) of not reading anything that wasn’t either research for a novel I was working on or something I was assigned to read for an endorsement, I have ripped through two novels of my own choosing in rapid succession, and I loved them both so freaking much.

I intend to write a dedicated review to each book shortly for this blog, but for now, just let me tell you that these two books were so so so so so so so so so amazingly good and I owe each of them a personal apology for leaving them on my shelf, untouched, for so many years.

Hooray for reverse psychology, or whatever this is. Tricking myself? I guess it’s just tricking myself. Whatever you want to call it, it worked, and I am now an avid reader again. As soon as I finished The Thin Place, I immediately started the next book on my shelf and I hope to cruise through all the rest of them by this time next year. After all, I work every day, and now that reading is part of my regular tasks I must do for my job, I should be able to make my way through the whole book case without too much trouble.