On Slow Reading.

I am a slow reader. Part of that is due to life circumstances—I don’t have much time to read with three little dragons under 4 at home. But part of that is also my natural reading pace. I read slowly, rereading the same passages to cement images in my mind, setting a book aside for awhile to process what I’ve read and then coming back with perspective. Taking a break when the story is stressing me out. 

On bookstagram, there is this inherent pressure to be like the cool kids who read 10 books a month, 100 books a year—some less, but some even more. To be caught up with what everyone else has read and is talking about. To announce to everyone how many books you’ve read so far in a given year. And I won’t deny I get caught up in this. Reading many books and being proud of it is great! But we who read slow and let stories sit and stew in our minds shouldn’t feel bad. (Nor should those of us who write the same way!) 

I don’t know about you, but my reading (and writing) pace is inconsistent, too. Some months I’ll breeze through four or five hefty books. Some months I’ll struggle to finish one short one. And that’s fine, too. Reading slowly or inconsistently doesn’t rob us of any of our credibility as a reader. And, of course, the same goes for writing. For some, doing these things slowly or quickly is kind of a neutral phenomenon. For others, luxuriating slowly in a fictional world is beneficial to our understanding, rememberance, digestion of a story. As a writer I also feel like I benefit from careful, slow examination and study of not only the story in a vacuum, but the writing and structure. I’m not just reading to enjoy. I’m reading to learn how to write. To learn how I write. 

But don’t take this the wrong way—I also feel that those who are prolific readers deserve to feel accomplished for their Herculean efforts. To be able to read fast and in high volumes is a worthy skill. I’m just saying it’s not the only, or best, way.