I am very much hoping that, along with the return of my writing skills, I’ll find some reading skills. I haven’t been able to read anything longer than a Cracked article for years now. I’m keeping up on news and events and blogs and all that stuff, but recreational reading? Only if I’m rereading stuff I have pretty much memorized.
I used to read voraciously, and was almost never without a book. I read so much Young Adult literature that I ended up writing a term paper on it in college (Fiction for Females in Mid-to-Late Childhood, oral and written term project, PSY 481 1999) (Fuck you, I worked hard on that). As an adult, I branched out to read more sci-fi and fantasy.
For years after that I was into memoirs, and now I’m finally starting to write my own. But ever since I got pregnant (the first time) I haven’t been able to focus enough to really read. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve tried. I have a brand-new Jen Lancaster book that I’ve been staring at for months, I have a stack of “new mommy” memoirs that are fast becoming irrelevant, and I haven’t even leafed through any Steven King. Thank the Flying Spaghetti Monster for audiobooks, or I would have totally failed in my Book Club.
I miss it. I used to just melt into a book; I would completely detach from the outside world and live that story. I would obsess about when I’d get to read more, especially when there was a cliffhanger. When I was interrupted, I’d be logy and slow and kind of hung over. When I wasn’t reading, I would think about parts of the book over and over, like a song getting stuck in your head. Some I read repeatedly, enjoying them like visits with old friends. Sometimes even still I kind of narrate what I’m doing (mostly in my head) as if I was writing it.
Maybe it’s better. The death of my reading and writing was pregnancy. And this is definitely not a time in my life when I can afford to be zoned out, lost in a book. Just today, Edward got halfway out the front door. Twice. And that’s with me watching. He’d be halfway to Dari Mart by the time I finished a chapter! On the other hand, this short attention span is just about enough to read one of those board books.
I don’t know. As I have been writing this, I am starting to question how healthy my book-lust was. All this living inside the story stuff; that’s also how I used to describe life with the CTC. It was like becoming fanfiction.
I wouldn’t want it back if it was more of the same. I’d be interested if other bookworms have the same “get lost in the book” thing going on. Thoughts? Either way, it will probably take me a while longer before I’m reading the way I used to, just because of E. Given that he had me read Monster Faces about eight times this morning, I think the rereading habit, at least, might be genetic.