Seven months into reading all the books in my TBR pile, I figured it was time to evaluate my progress.
Just how many of my own books have I read since October 2019? How was I doing?
Not well, it turns out.
All those years I spent avoiding impulse buys in the grocery checkout aisle have come to haunt me. Instead of buying KitKats, I’m now checking out books at an unprecedented rate—despite the lockdown. My husband didn’t realize that when he gave me a Kindle, not only was he bestowing upon me a gift but also a curse.
In thirty-one weeks (from Oct 1 to April 30), I’ve read forty books, but only forty-two percent of those are books I own. While it’s embarrassing to publicly admit that I’ve failed at something (reading more of my own books than library books), I suppose there’s nowhere to go but up.
I read a lot, not just for my work as an editor but for fun and to learn, and yes, for a little escapism!