Tag Archives: reading

Of Opiates, TV, and Books

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2015-08 PicI used to read a lot as a child and teenager. The amount of reading required of elementary, middle and high school never overloaded me enough to take away my pleasure. College, on the other hand, nearly beat the love of reading out of me. After studying the number of textbooks required of a full-time college schedule, the last thing I wanted to do was read – even if for pleasure.

When I started working after college, I found a way to fan the sparks of the dying fire that used to be my passion for reading. Since I took the bus to and from work, I used that time to start reading for pleasure again. I even mastered the art of reading while standing up, hanging on for dear life, while the bus went through endless cycles of stopping and starting.

As my fortunes rose in the form of added responsibility at work, my schedule became more unpredictable and wouldn’t accommodate taking the bus anymore. The increase in duties went hand in hand with an increase in the amount of reading required for work. Reading on the job started taking over just like textbooks had in college and my enthusiasm for reading waned again.

Vacations have helped to keep the fire burning. I always start a new book while on vacation and if I don’t finish reading it before I come home, the fun of the vacation continues until I get to the end of the book.

I don’t watch a lot of television. Even so, I use it like many others do – to chill out at the end of a busy day. At the beginning of the year, I found myself utterly bored with everything on TV – and I mean everything. Usually, I can find something to watch to relax with before I go to bed, but nothing fits the bill anymore. New shows don’t interest me and reruns of old favorites feel done to death. The void left is palpable. That makes me sound like a crack addict without a fix and the truth is that is how I feel.

One of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes cartoons is where Calvin is reading from a book and he says, “It says here that ‘religion is the opiate of the masses.’ …What do you suppose that means?” In the next frame there’s a picture of a TV ‘thinking’ this response, “It means Karl Marx hadn’t seen anything yet.” Had I been victim to the intoxicating allure of television all these years and kidding myself that I could take it or leave it? Like an alcoholic who has a moment of clarity during a dry spell, I saw that I had to put the ‘cup of television’ down and take a new path to sobriety and I vowed the path would be paved with books. The path hasn’t been easy.

To reinforce my decision, I set a goal to read twelve books this year thinking one book per month is the minimum required to maintain a healthy reading life. According to my tally on Goodreads, I’ve read four books and am three books behind in reaching my goal by the end of this year. The challenge is in trying to get excited about picking up a book after reading for the majority of an eight hour workday. The good news is that it’s getting easier. Once I get over the hurdle of opening a book outside of work, it’s not difficult to enjoy what I’m reading. But man! Getting over that hurdle is sometimes like trying to jump over the Empire State Building.

Since I don’t have the leaping ability of Superman, I have some devices I employ to give me a lift. One is to keep my current book as visible as possible so it doesn’t become out-of-sight-and-out-of-mind. Another is to take it to a room to read away from where I usually watch TV. That way, I don’t feel drawn to my old habit. Third, I bargain with myself to say I’ll only read for ten minutes and even set a timer. With this one I find that I often get engaged with the book and read beyond the time limit I set. I’ll gladly take suggestions for other ways to keep at it.

As I progress, I wonder if I’ll become as addicted to books as I have been to television. Since I’ve never heard anyone told they read too many books, I think I can live with that.

Do You (Still) Read Books?

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When is the last time you read a book?

My answer to that question is: late February.  But my real answer should be: I don’t read enough.  And that’s a sad thing for a writer.

I talk a lot about the way we wrote as kids, just for the fun of it, no expectations, just playing with words.  I should also be dancing with books, traveling through other worlds to experience the words of others.  I should be reading not necessarily to learn from or to study with an eye towards technique, but really, just to pass the time.

“Should” is an evil, passive excuse of a word.  Anything that “should” be done “needs” to be done.  That is so much easier to say than do because there is so much more in the world to do.

Welcome to the world of social media.  We pass our time with heads buried in our phones or tablets, getting neck cramps from looking down too much, missing the scenery we ride by and not hearing the people around us.  Given that, who wants to carry a book when you’ve got hundreds downloaded onto your Kindle or Nook app?  Further frustration:  who wants to open those apps when you can have the three-star-rush of Angry Birds or discovering five new Pinterest recipes for banana nut bread?

The world of electronic gadgets and the bright shiny oooooooh of it all do suck me in.  I don’t spend my time reading books.  That makes me sad, but I don’t see myself changing my routine.

The most recent book I finished was a memoir recommended to me.  I bought it—a physical copy—because that person said, it sounded like the type of memoir I was writing.  I bought it to study and learn from it, the story being a secondary aspect.  It turns out that the approach worked for me; the story was not a great one and I didn’t connect with the character, but there were lines of brilliant emotion that struck my heart.  I wonder: would I have bought that book just off a bookshelf, physical store or otherwise, if I didn’t have that writing connection to it?

I’m writing this in a Starbucks, and what a twist of coincidence just now.  I overhear a conversation between two women where one says, “Have you read the latest James Patterson novel?”  I’m pausing to listen.  The music’s loud enough and the women are far enough away that I’m only hearing snippets.  “He has a team of writers.”  “He’s always on top of it.”  “It’s always a mystery story.”  “Reading Wall Street Journal,” at which point I think the discussion has moved on to other topics.

I am thrilled to hear this conversation.  Angled towards each other, these women are still a community of two.  What are they doing?  I have to get a closer look.  I’m a terrible judge of age, but they look the age of people who still prefer reading paperbacks.  Do they have a roughed-up paperback between them?  That’d be so cool.  I tell myself I need to sweeten my coffee more, so I shuffle by and peer over their shoulders.  They’re both looking down at large smartphones or small tablets.  I am actually disappointed.  I tell myself that regardless where or how they read it, they read it.  Together.

They’re doing more than I am.

Months ago, I made reading a priority and set goals for the year.  I contributed my part to my writers group’s list of our New Year’s Writing Non-Resolutions.  You can read everyone’s lists here. One of my non-resolutions is what I think is an achievable reading goal for me.

As a writer, I feel a need to be more involved on Goodreads, so I updated my pathetically outdated account.  I enrolled in the 2015 Reading Challenge.  The number of books that I think is achievable for me is…well, check it out here and form your own opinion.

My list of books “currently reading” or “want to read” include two that people want me to review and/or critique.  Now I’m a reviewer.  Now I’m reading with a purpose, an obligation.  It’s more like a job.

When was the last time I wandered a bookstore with the intention of finding a book to read for selfish pleasure?  I don’t know.  I really don’t know.  There’s a lack of bookstores in my part of southeast Michigan.  There are two Barnes and Noble bookstores located a short drive from me.  There is one nice local independent store of new and used books, and then there’s one junky, cluttered used bookstore.  There’s a fabulous large used bookstore on the edge of Detroit, but it’s just far enough away for me to think of it as out of the way.  Nice excuses soothing my guilty conscience.

I guess I should stop making excuses for not reading.