A post on Book Riot (my new favorite website about books and reading), The Reasons I Don’t Read: Causes of the Dreaded Book Slump, hit home with me this morning because I am in a book slump. In fact, I’m so bothered by my book slump it made the list of things that are pissing me off that I bombarded my poor husband with on Tuesday.
- I’m procrastinating.
- I’m not writing.
- I hate our gym.
- I can’t lose weight.
- I haven’t lost myself in a book in months.
I won’t bore you with talk about the first four because they are all on me and things I could fix if I put my mind to it. Though, in my defense, our gym isn’t a gym, but a rec center with all the weird little quirks that comes with that. That place pissed me off from the word go with their weird childcare hours (at a crucial time in my life when working out was my only avenue to sanity), stupid rules and the fact it didn’t have a water fountain on the workout floor. I mean, come on. What the hell kind of design is that?
*takes a deep breath*
Anyway. Reading. I talked to writer friends about this last night at happy hour.
And, can I just stop down right here and say how amazingly awesome is that I’m having happy hour with writer friends? Slowly but surely, I feel like I’m a part of a larger community, an industry, that I’m a professional. Crazy how much I missed that.
I can’t read a novel without analyzing it from a writer’s point of view. Without thinking,
“Oh! I should do that!” or
“Good God! I would never do that!” or
“Oh my God! Do I do that?” or
“If I did that, Workshop would cut me off at the knees.”
Let me tell you, it sucks the enjoyment right out of reading.
“Come on, Melissa. Not reading isn’t the end of the world.”
To that I say, “You obviously aren’t a reader.” It is the end of the world. I love reading. It’s who I am. Reading has educated me, comforted me, angered me, inspired me. One of my biggest joys in life is recommending a book to a friend and that friend loving it. It’s a Twitter descriptor – wife, mother, writer, reader, ice cream lover – the last of which explains #4 up there. It’s not like reading is a bad habit I need to kick. In fact, it’s something I have to do to be a good writer.
Therein lies the problem.
I haven’t been picking up books that grab my interest, but books I feel like I should read, specifically mysteries.
Here’s a little quirk of mine: I write mysteries but I don’t read a lot of mysteries. In fact, I write mysteries that I want to read. Fodder for another post.
As a result, instead of focusing on enjoying the story, I’ve been over-analyzing the text, the writer’s style, how it differs from mine, what I can learn. In the last six months, reading has become homework and no one likes homework. My writer friends suggested I should get completely out of my genre which is, of course, the common sense response and one I should have seen myself, and would have if the other four issues up there hadn’t sent me spiraling into irritation overload.
Will I continue to analyze everything I read. Probably. I fear it is the curse of being a writer. But, I still believe there are books out there that I will lose myself in, that I will forget to think of scene structure, tension, dialogue and plot. There’s only one way to find it.