I went into 2019 planning on reading at least a book a week. Six or seven weeks in and I’ve only gotten one book done. I listened to it too, didn’t actually read it. I brought a book with me to read during my lunch break but instead I’m writing this post because Summing Up is on my todo list, reading is not. The audiobook thing didn’t really work out either—I fully intended on getting going with another one, but Small Fry seems like it ought to be read, not heard. Though, wow, Steve Jobs was a monumental piece of shit.
Not a surprise but still… wow.
Like the Angkor Wat of deadbeat dads.
And the book I want to read—Reclaiming Our Space—I really want to read. I want time with it. Not hoping a chapter will fit into whatever time I have before getting back to work. Structuring reading time has been a problem for years. When I did the Love and Rockets readthrough for Comics Fondle I took only having to read a thirty-ish page comic into account. Sure, I read them each three times, but each of those three times didn’t require a decided time commitment.
Last night I was thinking about how I want to go forward with the new Comics Fondle format this year—which I haven’t even announced, have I… still trying to get out that 2018 podcast wrap up where I might talk about it—and I realized it’s going to be a completely different time commitment.
Basically, the only day I schedule for anything substantial—substantial means more than ninety minutes but really more than eighty minutes—is Friday. It wasn’t intentional, but once I realized I was writing 3,500 words most Fridays… well, 3,500 words is substantial. But almost all of my writing is reactionary. So I need to experience a thing before reacting to it. And that experiencing takes time.
Nicely, I forgot to schedule anything this Friday (because we were supposed to record the oft-delayed podcast) so I’ve got a lot of time. But will I actually read any of this book? I don’t know.
But I do know I’m not rushing through a chapter in fifteen minutes.