Bad Reading Habits of Randomly Effective Writers

Happy New Year!

I am a bad reader. First of all, I'll read anything. I can't be without something to read and If I ever have to commute for more than 10 minutes without reading material, I tend to start biting my nails. So if Tim leaves a Dennis Wheately book lying around in the laundry room and I've got six minutes left on the 'drain & spin' cycle, I'll get stuck in the morass of a sentence like this:

"An appetite in keeping with his mighty frame had enabled Van Ryn to do ample justice to each well-chosen course and, as was his custom each time the young American arrived in England, the Duke had produced his finest wines for this, their reunion dinner at his flat."


I can't help myself. If it's a book, pamphlet or cereal box in a language that I semi-understand, I'll read it.

My second bad reading trait is that I can't read only one book at a time. Unless it's a fast-paced book (like the Hunger Games trilogy which actually had me feeling as if I'd really done some exercise instead of just sat in my armchair letting my tea get cold.) I will read two or three books at once. Take for example what I'm reading now. The light bodied read - a book I've read before: Nine Tailors by Dorothy L. Sayers, the medium read - a book I've not read before but one that can be put down and picked up again without any problem; The Fool, by Christopher Moore. And the HEAVY read - the book I feel I ought to be reading: Until the new year this was The Girl with The Dragon Tattoo, but I've given that one up for now and picked up The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. We shall see if I ever find out what the ef is up with Count Fosco.

Okay, here's the other bad habit I have about books. I lie. I don't always do it on purpose, for example there is another book I'm currently reading, I guess you'd call it the stealth read: Tithe by Holly Black. I forgot I was reading it and just picked it up again. I haven't figured out if I like it or not so until I do we'll have an on again-off again relationship. But I also lie when someone asks me what I'm reading. How can I tell them I'm reading four books at once. So I usually lie and say "I'm thinking of reading GWTDT" which I am. Thinking about. One day.

I do long for the kind of brain space, time and quiet it would take me to read Bleak House (which I've tried, numerous times to get through) because I know close, careful reading has it's rewards. But my bad habits won't let me.

So, here's my New Year's resolution: Read no more than two books at a time and keep track of what I read. I got one of these from Farley's bookstore in New Hope to keep track and keep me honest. It's like a readers version of a weight watchers points system. Man, I hope I can keep to it. Maybe the number of books I try in the year will go down, but hopefully the number of books I finish and enjoy will go up.

What are your reader resolutions? What are your bad reading habits? Any one got any suggestions for me?

Spoiler! the PIG ate the NECKLACE!

The first book I can remember was read to me by Sister Anne in first grade. She read it, then we muddled through it many times on our own. Sister Anne was short, like a gnome with a long dark blue habit. She had facial hair, sprouting out of strategically placed moles on her chin. She said she had a baby in the closet, so we had to be quiet not to wake the baby. She also said that Paul Anka was her boyfriend. The facial hair, even at six, I thought was odd, but the baby and the Paul Anka, I was down with that.

I remember The Necklace so well because it was a mystery. There was a seriously funny twist at the end. See, Mrs. Pig wants to have a picnic to show off her fancy marshmallow necklace. She lays out a plush spread and invites all the other animals. I don't remember the other animals except for Chipmunk, who is the detective. When it's discovered that Mrs. Pig's necklace is gone, well, tears and recriminations, my friends. Everyone is a suspect. Everyone is subjected to Chipmunk's cunning and good cop/bad cop routine. I thought it was the duck (or chicken, can't remember exactly what kind of fowl it was.)

In the end, Chipmunk says 'J'accuse!' to Mrs. Pig herself, who in her nervousness, as she is waiting for her guests to arrive, has scarfed down the necklace, then forgot all about it. I sympathize. I've done similar things to marshmallows in times of anxiety. In the end, all is forgiven and the rest of the lovely picnic is ransacked by what are essentially farm animals in waistcoats.

I remember the sensation of seeing the squiggly black lines under the pictures and, suddenly having them bloom into words. One second they're smudges, the next they mean something. I'm sure it was a lot more prosaic than that, a lot of repetitive and boring drills. I put my daughter through the same boring drills every night. But I also see the fire, the leap of understanding as she gets it, and the whole city, every billboard, gas station and Target sign opens up to her. It's awesome

What was the first book you remember reading on your own?