We are almost halfway through 2018, and my entire reading year has been shrouded in a deep reading slump. To put a number on it, in the first five months of 2018, I only read three books. Three. By way of comparison, in the same period in 2017, I read nineteen.
As with the 1st of any given calendar month, today’s blog post should be highlighting all the wondrous books I consumed in the previous month, but as with two of the past four months (February: On Not Reading; March: On (Continued) Reading Slumps), I have nothing to “wrap-up”.
I’m not going to lie and say that I’m entirely disappointed by my inability to read so far this year; the truth is that other things have taken priority in my life, and I’m so happy that they have. However, it does feel like there is something missing, and that something is the fictional worlds in which I have spent the past twenty-three years of my life, (I’m not counting my current twenty-fourth year given my reading slump), happily living.
Now, to the point of May’s “Wrap-Up”.
For the past few years, I’ve kept track of my book-blogging/bookstagram commitments in a Word document, laying out all the posts I’ve got to write, and accompanying photographs I’ve got to take, in any given month. Directly underneath the header for January, February etc. was my TBR, prominently listing all the books I began in previous months, but had yet to finish. This didn’t use to prove problematic for me, when the number of current reads was hovering around five, but for the past (almost) two years, that number has been more like twenty.
Over the past few months, I’ve been kidding myself that the number wasn’t bothering me, but the truth is, it was. It is. As a result, I’ve come to the long-overdue decision to scrap my “Currently Reading” shelf. Metaphorically, and physically to some extent, it has gone.
From today, I will no longer be marking any book as “Currently Reading” on Goodreads, or noting it down in any form. I’m simply going to read what I feel like reading, when I feel like reading it, and mark whatever I did read as finished (with no given start-date) upon completion, in the hopes that my reading becomes less about the numbers, and more about the enjoyment. To be honest, I already feel more free, and that is a result in itself.
Now, I think it’s time to read something, anything, for pleasure, and rediscover why I fell in love with books in the first place. If you’ll excuse me, I have fictional worlds to explore.
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