Reading, books and literature.

January 28, 2009

Reading is a major part of my life.
I honestly cannot remember a time when I haven’t been reading at least one book. Because of my penchant for books, my parents told me I could only read from 7am onwards. I can remember reading through the night and when it reached that time, feeling as though I’d achieved something because I didn’t have to sneak around and cough when I turned the pages to disguise the sound. And I couldn’t count the times I woke up to my mother coming into my room and carefully removing the book from my hands I’d fallen asleep reading.
Even now, I have shelves upon shelves of books. There are still some I haven’t gotten through from the Christmas before last. There’s just something to be said about curling up in a comfortable chair in front of the fire with a good book. Or alternatively, collapsing in bed at 3am, bleary eyed and freezing, and reading. No matter the circumstance, it’s often easier getting to sleep after a good long read.
I feel an affinity with authors. As a primary school child, from the age of about 4 until I was 11, I was somewhere that encouraged my fledgling writing ability and love of literature. However upon transitioning into secondary school, that seems to have changed. The school I attended was strict and highly regimented. They were eager to strip any individuality away, and make the school body perform as a unit.
Although I can’t blame them entirely for the amount of writing I was doing slowly dwindling; I couldn’t have expected to write stories about my outing to the shops every day. But the lessons became more structured, and you were encouraged to write your own works less and less. Even in essays they are looking for a particular structure and content, so each student turned out largely the same result, as we’d all experienced the same teaching.
Whether it’s because it’s a childish ambition, or something more substantial, I would love nothing more to be a successful author, but as time progresses, I feel as though I have less of an opportunity to do so. I’m not enrolled in a creative writing course, and I haven’t done any fiction outside of NaNoWriMo. It’s not because I’m inherently lazy, although I certainly am that. It’s not because there are currently external factors that are causing my entire familys’ plans to be put on hold. I just don’t think I have a belief in myself anymore.
Not meaning to be all self-depricating. I’ll sort myself out soon enough. I have a friend that has recently revealed his similar creative enthusiasm to me, and he’s kicking himself into gear, so he’ll more than likely have the same effect on me.
If not, I’ll just watch Teleshopping at silly hours of the morning. Oh wai-


One Response to “Reading, books and literature.”

  1. Andrew said

    Not keeping up with my reading is quite easily the greatest regret of my life. I read so much as a child. On the 4 hour drive to grandparents’ house I’d finish off a 300 page novel in the backseat. Middle school killed my reading drive, between peer pressure and compulsory reading I ended up not finishing books and only reading when forced. I have trouble reading for more than 20 minutes at a time now too. Except I started reading children’s literature again and it’s revamped my interest. I’m going to be more creative too, and then that’ll force you. That, and me insisting upon it. Get to work!

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