I noticed something during my winter break. Classes had ended, my final papers and projects were all turned in, graded, and forgotten about. I had roughly a month of free time in which I could do just about anything I wanted. I had decided that I would finally tackle the small (well, not so small) pile of books that had been accumulating, literally since my freshman or sophomore year.

I used to be an avid reader, and I still like to think I am. During my summers I would sometimes read entire books, more if they were short, over the course of one day with almost no breaks. I have shelves and stacks back at my parents’ house of books that I’ve read two or three times over.

Here in my lovely little apartment, many of the books have been unopened.

So what happened?

Being an English major happened. Having to read droves of stuff that I appreciate from a literary standpoint but wouldn’t pick up otherwise happened. At some point the 60-80-100+ pages of reading assignments got to me and I began to associate reading with work.

So I’m slowly teaching myself to enjoy reading again. I’m almost done with the fabulous WOOL Omnibus which may deserve a review here at some point, I’ve delved into a few fantasy novels I got years ago (including the novel adaptation to the MYST games, if anyone has ever played those. Not bad so far.) I edit and give feedback to a few fellow writer friends, whose works may also merit a shout-out on this blog at some point. I even sat back and let myself get lost in my own novella the other day. It’s been a slow process, but I’m healing.