Finding something to read can be hard. If fiction, it has to entertain me, and within the first few chapters. After that I struggle. I’ll make it to maybe chapter 7, then I’ll bin the book. Well, give it to charity. For non-fiction if it doesn’t grip me in the first few chapters I’ll flick through it looking for any nuggets of wisdom. I may even skeed it. A personal blend of skim and speed reading. Skimming through the book speed reading the bits I find interesting, if any.
It’s a form of ADHD, but one born out of the modern world. A mixture of information overload and impatience. I am old enough now to have calculated how many books I can read in my remaining lifetime given my age and the available leisure time that I am happy to dedicate to reading. The number is not as high as I would like it to be, so I tend to be picky. If the book isn’t well written I’ll quickly move on. I donate a lot of books to charity.
I listen to podcasts while I multitask. If I hear a book recommendation that sounds interesting, I’ll make a note of it. Same goes for recommendations from friends, colleagues, TV, radio, and other literature. I have a reading wishlist and occasionally I’ll buy when the price is low. I never sell, I shelve or donate.
I used to have two or three books on the go, max. Never the same subject and only one fiction. Otherwise I’ll get literature crossover. At the time of writing I have eight books I’m reading. None are gripping. I’m either skeeding or taking forever to get through them. It started at three, but then I was bored and gave another from my to read pile a chance. It failed so I tried another, and another. Now there’s eight. At what point do you admit you have a problem?
I do love to read. But as I get older, finding something good to read gets harder.