It’ll be no news to anyone here that I’m a big reader. Books and stories in all their written forms make me so happy. There are times though when reading starts to escape me, and no matter what I do there’s just an absence of interest in reading books at all.
I’ve been in one of these reading slumps for the last few weeks, pretty much since I left London. I thought to start with it was simply my change of routine – I’m not commuting now so I don’t have that allocated time where I read books. It can’t be that, or just that, though. If it was I’d find other times in my day in between the things I’m doing and settle down with a book, and yet I’m not.
I am still reading. I’ve been catching up with some of the articles I’ve saved in my Pocket / Reading List, I’ve been flicking through magazines. I’m still reading fanfiction (one of these days I’m going to seriously investigate what it is that’s different between reading books and reading fanfiction because there is definitely something different, I’ve spoken to too many people who find exactly the same for there not to be something behind it). Books, not so much, despite the incredible pile I’ve got filled with books I’m excited about.
Today though, I started reading a book. It’s an advance copy of a book that I got through NetGalley, I downloaded it onto my tablet and can when I checked that the download had worked found myself reading the first page. And then the next, and the next, until I realised I was 100 pages in.
I’m not sure what changed. I worry that if I think too hard about it this little flurry of book reading might be scared away again. Instead I’m going to just keep on, and hope that one book leads to the next and the next and this reading slump will become a distant memory.