Let me begin at the beginning...
Children become readers by growing up around readers. Children learn to love reading after they read the first book that introduces them to the magic that is their imagination.
Children who love to read grow into adults who love to read.
I used to love to read in that way where you couldn't wait to finish work/run/dinner-at-friends' just to be able to get back to your book. I loved reading so much that I'd think and even talk about the characters even when the book was nowhere in sight. I could devour 3 books a week and never had a pile waiting - they didn't last that long once I got my hands on them.
But, one day, I stopped reading. And I've missed it. It's been literally years since I've read that way. The last book I read was I am Malala. It took me seven countries and nine months to finish it. I initially blamed my lack of interest in reading on the fact that I was writing. For some reason, I couldn't seem to do both. But I haven't written for most of this year, so that couldn't be it. I think I just got lazy.
It became too easy to be brain dead in front of the television, or to lose literal hours on social media. Brain numbing - brain dead. I don't want to do that anymore. I used to have an expansive vocabulary. I used to read in two languages for goodness sake! Until this week, I was lucky to be able to read two pages in a row and hold my concentration.
So I decided this week that I would fall in love with reading again. I went on an excursion to Collins Books and I bought a handful of books. I promised myself no television and no social media - just reading - and I HAVE LOVED IT.
I began by reading some Young Adult (YA) fiction - Me & Earl & the Dying Girl. I have to tell you, I hope the movie is better! Didn't matter though, because I was still motivated to read it and spent every spare moment I could until I finished it in two days.
Simultaneously, I listened to the audiobook version of Wuthering Heights just in case I really couldn't read anymore....
I also have always wanted to read the Classics. I thought this was one of them. I thought it was a love story.
My very brief summary of Wuthering Heights is this:
A narcissist with antisocial personality disorder torments two generations of the same inbred family. The End.
In my opinion, Emily Bronte grossly overuses the words ejaculate and erect. What an ugly tale about ugly people. I don't think I can bring myself to listen to Pride and Prejudice now for fear of what it might reveal.
Book-wise, I'm settling in to read The Umbrian Supper Club by Marlena De Blasi now. After just visiting Umbria, I'm excited for the memories it might evoke.
What are you reading?