At the beginning of the year I set myself a challenge to read 52 new books in a year, an average of a book a week, and for the first eight months I did rather well actually. Then, September and October happened, and as far as new books go they were rather dire.
Full disclosure, this is not to say that I was not reading during those months – I did read a few new books, but mostly due to circumstances at the time I was re-reading old comfort books and curling up for a bit of R&R with old friends (yes, I mean the books).
Now I find myself at the beginning of November with a grand total of 38 new books completed so far this year, and 14 to go in the next 8.5 weeks before New Years Day. Does that mean that I now have a goal of 7 books a month in order to reach my target? It absolutely does.
Am I going to rush my way through 14 new books in order to satisfy my pride and say that I did what I said I would in the time that I said I would? Absolutely not. for example, the book I am currently reading (She Who Became The Sun) is not one which can be rushed – It is there to be devoured and enjoyed, it is not one you can simply skim read, declare ‘Done!’ and then rush on to the next book. The entire point of completing this challenge would be defied if I were to focus on the numbers to the detriment of savouring the new books that I am discovering.
So, as to whether I will complete this challenge before New Years Day, or whether I may need a couple of weeks grace in order to finish in a meaningful manner, I don’t know. But I do know that somewhere out there are 14 stories that I haven’t read yet which are going to be mine in the very near future, and that is a satisfying thought.