I don’t know when I became so bad at reading.
Even as a child I loved books, avidly consuming Doctor Who novelisations I picked up from the library, or the now-classic UK Transformers comic. I was the sort of person who could read while walking, just about managing not to collide with lampposts or pedestrians or moving buses.
Somewhere along the line I made the transition to non-fiction, and this just fuelled my inner-nerd, teaching me about times and places that had previously been mysteries, and opening up new vistas. I’d follow my nose, indulging mayfly-like passions for subjects before moving on. Books were portals to knowledge, to information, to whole new worlds.
But now I read a lot less, and frankly it bothers me. I want that passion back. I can blame its disappearance on many things, everything from embracing Twitter to learning to drive, but really those are just excuses and I can’t afford to give them succour. Fact is, I’ve lost a part of myself along the way and now I want it back.
Maybe it’s because I’ve been getting e-books more, mainly for reasons of space. I have no problem with eReaders, but maybe I haven’t fully adapted to them yet; their content lacks presence, failing to exert the gravitational pull of a book made out of paper and ink. But this argument would only really have merit if I were still devouring physical books like I used to. I’m not. I’ve experienced Writer’s Block a few times, but while I was worrying about that, I was ignoring a far more serious outbreak of Reader’s Block.
(And don’t get me started on my RSS feed getting away from me. I actually feel guilty about that.)
I’d ask what I could do to fix this, but the answer is ridiculously simple – “Just pick up a book and read more, emo!”. Simple, yes, but not something I’m actually doing.
Anyway, enough moaning. I just want to be a reader again, to replace something I’ve lost with something that’s been found, reborn. Any ideas?