I just counted how many books I read this year and I’m embarrassed to say I read a lot less than I thought I did.
In my defense I was still in college during the spring and so when I had time to read I read for school. And also in my defense for being a writing major: the books aren’t always fun to read.
Okay they are, but having to read The Prelude by William Wordsworth, essays by Samuel Coleridge, and Bleak House all at the same time was a bit tough.
Over the summer my professor had the grand Idea to have a reading challenge. From the beginning of May to the end of August we would try to read 50 books.
Wanna guess how far I got? 24. I’ll even admit a lot of them were slim.
I’m not a normal book lover. I have phases. If I read a lot in a short amount of time, I’m bound to not read for a little while.
So It’s probably a bad idea to set a goal for next year, but I think I still will because having that challenge in the summer not only pushed me to read more, it pushed me to read books I never thought I’d pick up. Like, all those random books I’d buy from half-price knowing full well I’d never read them.
What should my goal be? What’s responsible, but slightly impossible? A number small enough that I could reach, but big enough to scare me into reading more.
Anything said about New Years is cliche.
I’ll write more next year.
I’ll read more next year.
I probably won’t blog again until next year.
Have a happy new year.
Here are some of the books I didn’t think I’d read this year, but so very happy I did:
What We Talk About When We Talk About Love
In one of Bret Lott’s essays he mentions how this book influenced him, so I decided to pick it up. It was different than what I was use to, but by the time I’d read the last short story I had fallen in love with Carver’s style.
by Bram Stoker
I know, I know. A classic. I didn’t think I’d enjoy it as much as I did, so I was a nice surprise.
The Importance of Being Earnest and Other Plays
by Oscar Wilde
Ah. Such wit. I wish I was this funny.
Did I love these poems? Yes. Did I understand these poems? Well…I’m still working on that part.
Tarzan of the Apes (Tarzan, #1)
To be honest, I never wanted to read this until I found myself at the bookstore waiting on a friend and this book just so happened to be right in front of me. I started skimming…and then I bought the book. I don’t plan on reading the others, but despite how much one has to suspend their belief to read this, I thought it was fascinating.
by William Shakespeare
I’m not crazy over Shakespeare, but I still make myself read his stuff. I did enjoy this one.
by Harry Mount
I have a facination with Latin. Kinda wish I would make myself learn it.
by Robert Graysmith
I’m a sucker for a good mystery. Especially if it’s true crime. It’s a bit repetitious I’ll admit, but still was really thorough. (And then suddenly I was on Zodiac forums, but that’s another story.)
Memoir of a Writer 
Ah, Zodiac! Nice. Haunting because it’s based in reality and I don’t think the guy was ever caught.
But, dude, you don’t want to know how many books I didn’t read. Moreover, I don’t want to say it out loud! lol… But in my defense, I am writing some (not as much as I’d like) and I don’t read fiction when I’m writing quite a bit. I fear bleed over – that moment when you realize half the plot you just came up with resembles a book you just read. I am honestly more into sponging knowledge anyway and will kill non-fiction like no tomorrow. But even that, I’m embarrassed by how much I’ve sponged this year. I may do better next year but have found I don’t like pressure. So, I won’t put it on myself by assigning a reading requirement for next year lol. I mean, if you enjoy the challenge of seeing just how many novels you can pluck off the shooting range then, by all means, fire away! But as for reading because “studies show that people who read an average of yadda yadda books per year are way cooler, more hip, and much more word savvy than those who don’t” eh…I’m not of that school of averages lol.
I’m not saying it’s not good to read, of course. But I think we are our own worst enemies – people in general – when it comes to expectations of ourselves. Life – being the media and this study and hearsay about that person that read XXXXX number of books in one month so shame on me for not reading two total – life gives us enough crap on its own than having to worry too much about what we don’t do, you know? Just my observation.
Anyway, by no means is my comment saying “chuck all goals into the bowels of Sheol”. Just to clarify!
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Yeah I get that! Lol for me the more I read the more I feel like Im living in reality. And that sounds so weird. What I mean is that I usually read books that cause me to think and rarely the books that I would say allow me to ‘escape.’
The goal pushed me to read more, but it encouraged me too. The more I read the….smarter I felt.
Sorry I’m so weird 😂
For example, the more poetry I read the more I began to understand it. When I stop reading actively I feel like I’m wasting my brain on things.
As for the bleeding over, ive never been afraid of it. Im a bit of a cynic so- theres no new thing so why try to act like there is? I was always taught if you like something make it better.
Not that I steal plots and make them my own, but if I love something about a character why not try your own version of it? In the end it might not turn out as similar as one may assume.
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Oh yeah, I get ya. Nothing new under the sun, for sure. 🙂
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I read as many books as I can without feeling forced, then I don’t enjoy it. When I was forced out of the job market this past summer I committed to catch up on my reading but I still only read about 3 a month. A far cry from your challenge
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It was an odd experience. I loved and disliked it. I didn’t like feeling forced to read, yet at the end of the day loved that I was able to as much as I did.
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24 is an impressive accomplishment. I couldn’t do it
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There was a group of us and at least two people got in the 40 range, which to me was insane. lol
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