On the first of any given month I would typically write a Reading Wrap-Up post, highlighting any and all the books I’ve read in the calendar month. Today, however, is a little different. Why? Because I didn’t read anything in February; I scarcely even read a page.
I have previously stated that this reading year is unlike any other year to date, in that it is not my goal to explicitly read “all the books”, but rather to simply read for pleasure as and when I wish to do so: it just turned out that in February I didn’t want to. And guess what, that’s ok.
Interestingly enough, just last month I wrote a post entitled On Reading (Many) Multiple Books At Once, which essentially was a discussion and argument in favour of constant diverse reading, yet in February I found myself completely distanced from my own viewpoint, and was more or less completely detached from literature of all kinds. It doesn’t concern me though. I might well wake up tomorrow with the fervent impulse to devour an entire novel in one sitting. I might not, but one is equally as fine as the other.
There is this inherent pressure amongst book bloggers, and all those associated with the literary and publishing profession, that we need always be reading and reviewing, when that is absolutely not the case. Undoubtedly, some of my best work has come after taking a step back and reassessing which facets of the reading experience are most important to me, which just so happens to currently be not reading, and by extension, reviewing. And, just to reiterate, that’s ok.
I’m hopeful that when this reading slump (if indeed it is a slump) concludes, I’ll pick up an incredible book and fall head over heels in love with the process once again, but until that day I am content in writing these somewhat more creative and discursive posts: it certainly makes a change from the norm anyway!
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