I own a lot of books. And I buy them faster than I read them.
That's the kind of statement which certainly can constitute a #humblebrag, that likely marks me as a member of the East Coast effete elite, and is no doubt a #firstworldproblem. (As is putting hashtags in something that's not actually on Twitter.) I also think this is an occupational hazard of being a writer, at least one with a reasonable amount of disposable income to throw around, but maybe the rest of you are working the library card instead.
Perhaps a couple of pictures will help. A recent internet shopping expedition netted me these:
But I haven't read any of them yet. What I'm doing with this stack is simply adding it to the unread book pile, which consists of (primarily, but not completely) these two bookcases.
Let's do the math. I am currently reading at the rate of approximately four books a month. If I don't buy any more books, I still own enough to keep me busy for about the next... seven and a half years.
(Whew, I thought that was going to turn out worse than it did. Only seven and a half years? Maybe I need more Stephen King...)
So, why do I keep buying books? Am I angling to be featured in the next season of Horders?
Well, writers I know, love, and/or respect keep coming out with new books, God bless 'em. New writers (at least, new to me), do that too, and I hear good things about them. Because people whose opinions I respect recommend books to me. And I'm very omnivorous in my reading, so those shelves include fiction and non-fiction, literary and genre works, classics of the canon and graphic novels. I want to support all those writers in their efforts and, more selfishly, not miss out on the Next Good Thing.
I guess I COULD cut back.
...
..
.
Or maybe, maybe instead I can just Read Faster!
If I end this post now, I bet I can get in a chapter of THE EGYPTOLOGIST before bedtime...
Thanks for Reading,
Stephen
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment