Friday, September 7, 2012
This causes a vague anxiety that is only made worse by Goodreads' reading challenge. I enjoy knowing how many books I read in a year. That was one of the original reasons for starting this thing. I might not have accomplished much last year, but I read over 100 books. That has to count for something, right? As long as we are not discussing the quality of said books.
This year I put down 150 books. Then promptly got caught in a re-read of the Wheel of Time books by Robert Jordan/Brandon Sanderson. And not only re-reading books I already have on my Goodreads list, but reading the blogged re-read on Tor.com which sucks up lots of time and has lots of good fan-type content, but does not count on Goodreads.
It is like a mental itch that I can't scratch. The low number on the goal bothers me, yet quitting the re-reads would bother me, so I cross-stitch instead. That pretty much sums up how I deal with stressful things. Explains the state of my house too.
But going back to the books. The number of books I read doesn't really matter. But as a reflection of how I see myself it does. Since I have decided this blog can now be much more self-indulgent and me-ish it is a valid topic of concern.
In a very well thought out blog post (unlike this one) Dan Wells posts a formula for figuring out how many books you can expect to read before you die. For me that works out to be a little over 5000. AAAAAAAAAH! What am I doing wasting my time reading stupid mysteries with recipes in them? Well, the answer to that is I can't read amazing things all the time. My brain gets stoppered up and then I don't enjoy it. That's what happened when I read a thousand page history of Europe. Interesting, but too much by the end.
I will keep going to Goodreads, I even encourage you to go to Goodreads if you haven't already, a little neurosis is good for you. Really. And soon, when I get Tor.com out of my system, maybe my tally will catch up.