im not a reader with a bottomless appetite, i read at night before i go to bed almost exclusively. i usually only chew threw maybe 10 pages or so a night unless im really getting threaded. what im trying to say is im a notch or two above illiterate. those 3 sentences are the TL;DR for this post.
i would buy books i wanted myself to read. many lofty intentions were had. i would want myself to read Leviathan, The Brothers Karamazov, or Thus Spake Zarathustra.
i looked like a real galaxy brain type. i would pass the “if they have no books, dont have sex with them” test and would be swimming in sexual encounters. only if they did not ask me anything about said books on the shelf though, because lo, those books were not read.
ive seen it called protein reading, and its what i continued to try and manhandle into my life. some books i was able to force myself thru and they became my favorites. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance comes to mind, but these were few and far between. i honestly think it may just be that one.
it really started to shift around when i read Kurt Vonnegut with Cats Cradle. its fast paced, its dark, its funny, it kept me engaged thru to the end. at least on my 3rd attempt to read it over 10 or so years. i realized that books werent just slogs to be endured, but could actually be sorta fun sometimes kinda maybe.
i started reading more of Vonnegut’s books. i started branching out, got into the Wheel of Time series with The Color of Magic. i bought Mort shortly thereafter and started reading it to my wife before bed, would do the voices and everything like my mom used to do for me as a kid. it was fun for us both.
ive since branched off in a few different styles. i still have some protein reading that i swear to god ill finish someday (im looking at you Jung’s Red Book), i hope i do. as of now, im firmly in my “i dont care what they say about you books, your actually pretty alright” stage.
over time i hope to post little blurbs or reviews on the media ive read.
