Shortly after my husband and I were married, we went to one of his family gatherings and I started a conversation the way I often do. "I'm reading this novel and it's about--"
"You have time to read?" my new sister-in-law interrupted. It was more accusation than question.
All these years later, I can still see her in her kitchen, dish towel stopped in mid-air, her eyes boring down on me. She wanted a response, and it didn’t take me long to come up with a sweet little lie.
"Sometimes…" I let my voice trail off and changed the subject. By then, I knew the drill.
In truth, I read all the time. I was obsessed. I would have my nose buried in a book so much that I began lying about my reading habits in 4th grade. It was a matter of survival.
One day I answered a question in class starting with "I read that . . ." and a kid made fun of me, since I had admitted reading more than the textbook for the third or fourth time. He conveyed that reading wasn't cool. I felt a little sick to my stomach. It was heartbreaking. But instead of stopping my reading, I went underground.
I started pretending I didn't read as much. I might share information but wouldn’t admit where I learned it. Things were especially tricky around the people I lived with.
Sometimes my husband would head to bed while I was engrossed in a book. In the morning he would ask how late I stayed up. He was a very sound sleeper. I’d say, "I'm not sure…" That meant anything from 2 a.m. to 4:30 a.m., or occasionally I hadn’t gone to bed at all.
I made sure to appear alert all day and control any inkling of sleep-deprived grouchiness. I think hubby knew. But it's something he learned to live with--the way some men overlook shopping purchases their wives hide from them.
But from a young age, reading was the main focus of my waking life. When my 18-months-older sister would climb off the school bus with her books, I'd knock her down trying to read them. A schoolteacher advised my mother that teaching me to read at home would make me bored with school. I used to drag the “Reader's Digest” behind a chair to study in private.
At seven years-old, the first book I read for myself and fell in love with was Stuart Little by E.B. White. However, I was deeply disappointed in the ending (I won’t spoil it for you, in case you haven’t read it) and have never gotten over it.
When I was a girl, I read Little Women by Louisa May Alcott several times. Although Beth's death saddened me, the sister who made the biggest impression on me was Jo, the writer.
In college, I read Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook three summers running. In a notebook, I copied down the words of my favorite passages. But normally, I only read books once.
By the time I was married and had children, my home could have been condemned for an over-abundance of books. I spent so many hours reading aloud to my kids that my son was reluctant to learn to read: “But you enjoy reading to me so much!”
Desperate to declutter, I started taking them one bagful at a time to donate to the local library. My librarian kept a tally for me, which topped out at 74 hardbacks and 92 paperbacks. Honestly, I hadn’t made much of a dent in my supply.
Many were bargains I found in used bookstores and on sale. I lived by Erasmus’s philosophy. "When I get a little money I buy books; and if any is left I buy food and clothes."
Around 2014, I read The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, by Marie Kondo. Her strategies made sense, although I couldn’t live with her limit: 30 books. She claimed you had peak excitement when you got a book and if you had not read it almost immediately, you likely never would. Also, there is no reason to hang on to a book you won’t read again.
When my husband went out of town, I carted hundreds of books away. Essentially, I emptied three floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. He was fairly shocked when he came home.
Like Kondo, I now keep drastically fewer books. If they start to spill over, I weed them out.
Here's my main secret for managing my reading habit though. I became a writer so I can read all that I want and call it “work.”
It's your turn. How much do you enjoy reading? What will you sacrifice to finish a good book?
Cathy Shouse writes inspirational cowboy romance. Her Fair Creek series, set in Indiana, features the four Galloway Sons of Galloway Farm. Much like the characters in her stories, Cathy once lived on a farm in "small town" Indiana where she first fell in love with cowboys while visiting the rodeo every summer.
For a sneak peek at her latest book, go here:
https://www.amazon.com/Her-Billionaire-Cowboys-Second-Chance-ebook/dp/B0B61ZYTG3
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She invites you to visit http://www.cathyshouse.com for more information on her, new book releases, and to sign up for her newsletter.
I was a sickly kid and often could not play. I read all the time. I still read. I had to get rid of most of my books when I moved into an apartment because I was not able to keep a house. I now read books on my phone. I am never without something to do while I wait in line or in a waiting room.
ReplyDeleteWe share the love of reading. :) I find that if I've been too busy to read, I will kind of get the blues and need to clear time from my schedule to get into a novel world. It's like having fictional friends expands my world.
DeleteI remember some of those scenarios. The only reason I knew how to climb trees was that there was this very comfortable place way up in the boxelder tree where I could read undetected and unbothered!
ReplyDeleteYes, the experience is that much sweeter when I am off by myself. I still remember the guy who couldn't take the hint when I pulled out my book while waiting for someone to finish their physical therapy appointment. Hahaha. It's like, "Do you not see the book in my hand? I'm trying to read here, not open to chit chat!"
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