I love reading.
There’s a bit of a family appetite that feeds my own, I guess. Growing up with a Dad who read voraciously, I enthusiastically devoured his dog-eared copies of Louis L’Amour westerns and tales of future worlds by Isaac Asimov. I was reading Tolkien before I was in my teens. English was the only subject I was any good at so I studied it at every opportunity. But I realised that I wanted to be the one who chose the books so my reading tailed off into Sven Hassel tank battles and Wilber Smith for the promise of seduction on the savanna.
Then came the world of work. Reading was a chore. Read this report, that manual, write a paper on it and get it approved (altered)/dismissed. Reading, hah, not for me.
So, here we are, a late-flourishing appetite to re-engage with words. Wanting to write, so needing to read.
As Stephen King said:
If you don't have time to read, you don't have the time (or the tools) to write. Simple as that.
I set myself a reading challenge. Fifty-seven books for my 57th year.
It is unfolding over here:
https://www.feastsandfables.co.uk/the-encouragement-manifesto/fifty-seven-books-the-list
It is an encouragement to me to read more, to fuel my writing. Reading is no longer feeling like a chore.
What are you reading today?
I am a voracious reader, have been all my life, but there are times when I run out of my capacity for words. The mind needs silence, space, peace. The experience of others is too much and I need time to float wordless for a while, a chance to percolate life. But when I return to the written page I usually start with Sir Terry Pratchett, master of satire, his exposure of the vulnerability and ridiculousness of the human condition delivered with compassion and humour never fails to reconnect me with the fantasy that is reality! He’s like marmite, beloved by many and a mystery to others. Though sometimes I might start with Pooh, his philosophies never fail to make me smile, or a few poems by Mary Oliver to reignite my love of words. And I’ve just discovered IG star Harry Baker whose poems are a joy and life affirming.
Lovely to see you start to flower on a new platform – all that compost you've been creating, no doubt! Currently enjoying Henry Marsh's latest memoir and also tempted like never before to re-read old favourites, which is something I'd never previously thought to do (I don't have time to read all the new stuff I want to read, let alone repeating the old stuff). The first hour, sometimes more, of the morning is the only true 'me' time I manage to set aside for reading. I think King's point is pretty spot on.