thinking with another person's mind

"We read to know we are not alone." - C.S. Lewis

So, while this is embarrassing, it is also an important confession. It has been over a year-and-a-half since I have read a book. A novel. Hell, let me just lay it all out ... I have barely been able to complete a full magazine article, never mind a nonfiction title. A couple of months ago I staggered into skimming short stories, but, that didn't hold my mind enough to keep the pages turning, despite the fact that I enjoyed the tales. The mathematics of this is staggering for me, as, for most of my remembered life, I cannot recall a time when I have not had at least two books in my bag or backpack that were either in preparation to read (back-up for when the subways were delayed), or being thoroughly devoured, on my train rides to school or work.

I have tried, for a long time to ignore this long running drought. Ignore the possible reasons why, ignore what was occurring in my brain (or not, as the case may be). Fact is, I really had no clue what to think about how I could go from reading three to four books a week, to absolutely nothing. None. No interest. Yes, my life was being deconstructed when this all started to occur, however, reading has always been an intrinsic part of who I am, what I love. It was connected to nothing but myself.

So, it was perhaps a sign for me that the recent (and rather violent) death of my iPod forced me to once again peruse my aching bookshelves for a title or two that I have not as yet cracked the spine.

How does one choose to begin again? It was a difficult decision to make. I looked very closely at my shelves. Most of the titles there I'd read at least once. But, I did not want the familiar. I required something new. I needed my return to the novel to be accessible and something I knew I could dig into (ie, an author whose style I was familiar with and enjoyed). So, I chose Kevin Canty's Winslow in Love. It is true, though I've never mentioned him here, that Canty is an author who is connected to my past, however, I have always been a fan, and it turns out, that, the story is a perfect anecdote for me right now. He was the author I chose years ago, during a prior difficult time, he was an author I shared. He wrote in a way that I enjoyed and recognized. He is safe, but interesting.

Two days in, and I am three-quarters through. I may need to place another book in my bag tomorrow, as the trains have not been running on time at all this week.