In a normal year, I read a novel a week on average. I set them aside through the year to do an end-of-year review of what I’ve read.
I think I’ll be failing this year.
My year usually starts in July. That’s just how I count it. By this point I should have a good dozen novels. Right now I’ve got… two.
Granted, I do have a number of graphic novels I’ve read, many of which I picked up at a certain con I attended recently. Those have generally been a delight.
So, what’s going on? What happened to my reading?
Well, I’ve gotten far more serious about my writing. When I read, it’s not for pleasure as much. I’m checking out how to write better. How do I sell books? What are some good release strategies? What should I price things at?
And between that research and just writing a ton more, I don’t have as much time to sink into a good novel. I’ve got time to read an issue or two of comics an evening, but that’s it.
I miss it. I really do. Unfortunately, I’m still buying as many books as ever, and my reading didn’t keep up with my buying habits before, much less now! My TBR stack is growing so much faster now. I may die when it topples over on top of me.
But this is part of what it means to be an author. Writing is work, and when you work, you set aside leisure.
Writing is still a blast. I’ve been having so much fun learning how to write and how to market and how to price and how to… well, you get the idea. This week I finished writing a third novel in a series that I’m hoping I can announce sometime in January. I love the characters and the world. I’m hoping to finish up rough drafts of every book in the series by the end of December. And that means writing my butt off.
And if I’m writing… I can’t be reading at the same time.
So for now at least, my TBR pile will continue growing. And that’s okay. They won’t go bad.
And if they fall over on me, well, at least I’ll die doing what I loved.