Writers throw this advice around a lot: Read. If you don’t read, you cannot be a writer. While I agree completely, nobody really talks about the pressure it creates. As a young writer, when I met other writers at workshops or joined book clubs, I felt out of my depth. Everyone seemed to be reading so much more than me. They quoted from books and stories I’d never heard of— like their own secret language. I’d be silently jotting down their names hoping to get to them one day. Just to feel included, I’ve been on a spree of reading for the last nine years, jumping from book to book, never stopping. If anyone asked what I was reading, I had an answer ready on my tongue. Still, it never seemed enough.
This lockdown has given a lot of us a lot of time to do the things we always wanted. Many are reading — some who have never picked up a book before, like my mother (taking a lot of credit here). Unlike most of my peers though, I’m not catching up on my reading. Catching up implies that you were falling behind. The nine-year-reading-spree left me wanting for one thing I never had the time to do: re-read some of my favourite books and others I’d always wanted to explore again. It takes time to read a book and to re-read a book takes much more time. Time I could easily have used in reading another book.
This peculiar pause (to borrow a phrase from Neil Gaiman) is unlike others. It’s got me to slow down on my…
