This year, it's mid-August and I've already finished the fifty books in the challenge. And the whole process has been a joy.
The difference is that I gave myself permission to just read what I wanted and not worry about the composition of my reading list. And while I've still read a couple of duds, as well as a bunch of books that were merely solid, rather than life-changing, I've enjoyed reading and been enthusiastic about it in a way that I hadn't been for ages. Sure, I did read some stuff I really enjoyed last year (Silver on the Road, Sorcerer to the Crown, and Black Wolves spring immediately to mind), but I often felt reluctant or unenthusiastic about the books I'd chosen, and frequently went for entire weeks without reading a single book.
The year is barely halfway over, and I've finished my reading challenge, but looking forward to the next five months — and the books they'll contain — with great anticipation. It strikes me as incredibly messed up that I was feeling actual anxiety about reading — an activity which had up until that point been one of my favourites — and I'm glad I've been able to restore the sense of joy and happiness which had been missing. After all, what is the point of reading for pleasure if you get no pleasure out of it?
(Speaking of Goodreads, I'm Dolorosa over there if you want to add me. I only use it to log the books I've read, but it's always nice to see what others are reading, so do feel free to add me if you want. If your username is really different to your Dreamwidth/LJ one, could you let me know who you are, though, so that I don't get confused.)
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