i used to read one book at a time. i used to read that book in a very regimented manner, like fifteen or twenty five pages a day, depending on how simple or dense the writing. i used to set a schedule and track my progress making it so i knew when i should be done with the book and if i completed the book as expected. sometimes i finished on time, and other times, i never finished at all.
the never finishing at all business bothered me. like a lot. i found that a slow moving or not right for this moment book could stall my reading, all my reading. i knew changing the book might clear the block but consequences loomed. this is the ocd side of me. while this quirk sometimes debilitated me, other times, lots of times, my quirk helped me over many of life's saw horses. i needed this to be one of those times.
so, i made a small tweak to my reading routine (somewhere along this journey, i stumbled upon the bionic power of small properly-placed tweaks). instead of focusing on one book, i now read four - six books at a time. and instead of reading in a genre rotation like i once did (e.g. fiction, history, literature, non-fiction, psychology, fluff, repeat), i read all genres at once. and instead of reading for a set amount of pages per day, i read for a set amount of time, thirty minutes. when the reading window comes up, i set the timer, pick one of the books from the currently being read stack, open to the bookmarked page and collapse into another person's world and experience.
now when i stall, i stall for bigger, more meaty causes, the sort of things one should set their book down for. not just because the lead character in the book blows or the author and i aren't jiving at the minute. this i can live with.
Stranger in a Strange Land
Robert A. Heinlein
Wherever You Go There You Are
Stumbling on Happiness
Endurance: Shackletons' Incredible Voyage
|READ BEFORE||BOOKS FROM : 2000 2001 2002 2003 2004 2005 2006 2007 2008 2009 2010 2011 2012 2013|
All Quiet on the Western Front
Erich Maria Remarque
Oh to be part of a coddled and privileged generation, floating through our war-eligible years without getting called up stands as quite a boon (for myself and country alike). Because, if a doubt exists in your mind that I would not be the Saving Private Ryan guy frozen and crying in the stairwell, remove it now. And, while I know I can make observations on Western Front like "he made it feel like you were right in the fracas" or "boy, I can just hear the tanks chugging over the hill", I cannot forget that I offer this learned opinion reading, writing and sitting in my chair and a half, fire popping in the hearth and gulping peanut m&m's by the gross. So, for us layman, this compact story of one man's war-time experience presents a concise glimpse into a life that is not our own. And, if nothing else, assures us that it is not a romantic or heroic life, just one rife with fear, agony and the desperate drive to survive. But, on the other hand, if you polled the average American, many would report similar emotions in their daily machinations, the only difference being one is justified and one is not. And, no matter who or how many people would argue the point of relativity, it is not, in any way, relative.
link to this review
view all books