My name is Emily, and I'm a rereader.
It's a downfall. I mean sure, reading is good. I acknowledge that. It's just that I have such an extensive list of books I want to read that I really shouldn't be reusing my energy. And the classics! Let's not even start on how I didn't have required reading at Hillbilly High and there are ten jillion important books I need to read that it seems the rest of the world has already read.
But here's the thing - I'm picky. I start a book and within the first fifty pages I'm either reading like a fiend or I'm finding excuses to quit.
I'm so vehement about using my time wisely when it comes to books I don't really enjoy, but I will gladly invest...and reinvest...with books I love.
I've always done this.
Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary, Laura Ingalls Wilder, and the few
R.L. Stine's I could sneak past my mother...those got read repeatedly.
Then I discovered
Stephen King. All bets were off for a while.
Then Harry Potter.
The Hunger Games.
But here's the thing - not everyone can be Stephen King. Or
Chuck Palahniuk, Augusten Burroughs, or any of the authors I've devoted myself to.
I find a niche - a comfort zone - and I become fiercely devoted. I suppose that's why I reread the ones I love. I fall in love with characters and stories, and terracing is like going to visit an old friend.
I've tried to join book clubs, recommendation groups. But it comes across as a little odd when I try to define my preferences. Horror, memoir, weird perverse and freaky? Yeah, try to define all that to the prims and propers of the Internet literary world.
So basically, until I find a new adventurous part of my anatomy, I will branch out...cautiously. I will read the ones I love again. And I will reserve my right to toss off a crappy book no matter how much the masses adore it.
Find Emily online at Emylibef, and while you are out there on the blogosphere, don't forget to stop by Erin O'Riordan's guest post on Joan Swan's blog.
