I always intend to do better about reviewing, discussing, documenting, whatever, the books I read – then I obviously don’t. I am pretty sure it has a whole bunch to do with my lack of consistency in putting words on a page. I am pretty sure that comes from my lack of confidence in making nouns and verbs do what I want them to do when I want them to do it. Couple that with my lack of discipline in waiting to start another book before I write about the one I just finished. Next thing you know, I just refuse to do it at all.
Additionally, I read different books different ways. I enjoy audiobooks, e-readers, and paper. Typically the method depends on the book. Audiobooks are usually fiction or easier reads. I save the non-fiction or “those likely to need a highlighter” for my iPad or paper. I own many of my favorites in multiple formats. You would think that lends itself to easy, quality, book write ups.
You would be forgetting that I am the quintessential over thinker.
Instead what happens is one of a few things…
With audiobooks, I am a staunch “unabridged version only” snob. This is a deep seated, personal prejudice born from my buy in on the format in its super early days when you still had to get the tapes (yes, the cassette kind). Back then (you will still hear it occasionally today, but I find it is pretty rare anymore), folks who utilized audiobooks weren’t considered actual readers. You were guffawed if you claimed to have “read” a book you “only,” in fact, “just listened” to. Therefore, I pledged to be an unabridged listener or bust.
But I never just sit down and listen to an audiobook. I am always doing something else – driving, cleaning, running. That is the beauty of the unabridged audiobook. I can read books I would NEVER have time to get to otherwise. The downside is obviously divided attention and no pencil (I love to read with a pencil). Maybe, on a super rare occasion, I will take the time to hit the “+ clip” button on my Audible app to mark a particular passage or section that strikes me as profound or compelling. However, qualifying those times as “super rare” is not an overstatement.
In a weird and self conscious way, that creates a distrust in myself whenever I sit down to write about an audiobook I just finished. “Weird” because it doesn’t slow me down one second when suggesting a book to a friend or discussing the work with someone that has also read it. It probably has something to do with the difference in words on the page and words on the air. I would guess this was the main argument of the “no you didn’t read it, you listened to it” crowd. There is a small bit of truth in that. I didn’t see the names, I don’t know how they were spelled. I didn’t see the layout of the words on the page, I had the inflection bias of the narrator. These things matter.
But I have decided they don’t matter enough to prevent the recording of my experience with them. They don’t change the fact that I encountered a piece of work and that encounter created perspective, emotion, and memory. They don’t matter enough to make me question the validity of my thoughts. Seems a bit heavy I know. It really isn’t. Sometimes I just have to dig my thoughts deep to keep the critics in my head quiet.
Then there are books I pay a lot of attention to. There are a quite a few in my collection that have numerous passages underlined and notes in the margin. There are even a couple that have warranted their own notebook. These I have tried to write about and the work falls prey to my inconsistency or perceived expectations of “timely manner.” That timely manner shit gets me on the regular. Like if I haven’t accomplished a thing on a certain time schedule I have failed in some way. Then I get all up in my feelings over some arbitrary bullshit that, in the real world, doesn’t really mean anything. I have cost myself a lot of good days getting tied up like that.
To this, I have finally come to the place where I am comfortable with the idea that I write for free. There is no revenue generated here. I am not letting my family down with my inability to pay the bills. I am not being professionally irresponsible by ignoring deadlines. So if I write an installation of a reflection on a particular work and never come back to it again, whatever. There’s nothing to feel any kind of way about. That freedom is game changing.
The hardest are the books I didn’t particular like or the ones that were just okay. As a reader/writer I have dueling opinions. As a reader, I should be able to honestly discuss my thoughts in a constructive way. As a writer, I should have thick enough skin to expect that there are people who don’t like my style or story. As a reader, maybe the work was good and the failure was mine. As a writer, shouldn’t I have some sense of solidarity and support for my fellow writers because I know just how fucking hard this is.
Enter stage left two of the most valuable lessons I have learned in the past two years as it relates to words on a page: First, I don’t have to publicly publish everything I think. Second, everything I do publish doesn’t necessarily have to be rose colored, positive, clean, popular, tidy, polished, resolved, enjoyed, or profound.
I simply have to write.