Reading Is Hard

I used to know how to read. I could read fast, I could read long, I could read chapter books. I was the flashlight-under-the-covers sort of reader. The kid combing through yellowed paperbacks in the back room of his grandparents’ house, scarfing up Crichton and Grisham and Michener — even Grandma’s Nora Roberts book. I read Animal Farm standing up. I read War and Peace because it was long. I read Ulysses to seem smart and didn’t understand a word of it. I’d have to force myself at parties to concentrate on talking to the person in front of me instead of being sucked away by the temptations on the bookshelf behind me. But then I grew up. I still read, technically. I vacuum up quick-take blogs, skim through a million witty ephemeral tweets, and scan long-form journalism pieces. But the novel — the chapter book — has suddenly become hard to crack/ Daniel Walters , Inlander. More here. (Photo: Inlander)

DFO: I was thinking this same thing recently. I don’t read books much now. I’m so caught up in social media and the short bursts of prose that I become impatient if I forced to plow through chapters. How about you? Has the social media squelched your desire to read novels?