Be-Witching!

What does reading mean to you?

It obviously means different things to different people.

I am not quite sure what it means to me, but it has defined me for as long as I can remember. I am the one who reads books. I am the one who gets gifted books or cups and posters about reading. I am the one who will always have a book in my bag. I am the one who is more likely to be asked Whatcha reading instead of Whatcha doing? So, maybe it’s something like, ‘I read therefore I am’.

However, what I read has changed drastically over time. As a child, I read whatever came my way, because it was the reading and the discovery that mattered. Even labels and manuals were exciting. Then, I went through a period of reading only happy books because it was my rebellion against a world that didn’t turn out to be what I wanted it to be. Of late, I am reading books that people advise should be read. I am developing an ear for the world and a conscience about it too. But it’s tough going.

I do enjoy many of the recommendations that come my way, but sometimes, although I enjoy what I am reading, it seems like a chore. (!) I can’t believe I just typed that. It seems blasphemous somehow, but it’s true. I binge watch streaming sites. I perch on the electrical wires of social media and watch the world go by and feel guilt about my precious books and my neglect of them. Because my love for reading remains unchanged, but my inertia leads me to lie about contrary to my basic impulse to pick up a book and read.

And then, like the sun emerging from behind the cloud on a rainy day, I find a book I love and the romance is back again, enough to sustain me through ones I might not love but definitely appreciate.

Following a move and some unnecessary but persistent self-generated drama, I was neglecting my books again. Then, my new bookshelves came up. I did some tidying up and saw my books arrayed on my shelves. And realised that I hadn’t yet read one of my Pratchetts. But in order to read it, I would have to read the other three in the series so I could remember where I had left off.

And wouldn’t you know, Pratchett, that wise, wonderful, self-effacing storyteller who can make me guffaw in public and make the tear ducts rain on my shirt collars, did it again. He took me back to a time I thought I had lost. I was devouring my books like a glutton hungry for more, and my books were consuming me. Every spare second in between tasks was spent on my books. I wept again and laughed again and lived in thrall even when I wasn’t reading. I swallowed Pratchett’s words and they travelled through my bloodstream, fired through my synapses, and streamed out with the adrenaline. I wanted to stand in front of my newly installed bookshelves and scream, ‘I am back, baby!’ Because I am. Thank you, Pratchett. You always know what to say to make me smile and shake off the ennui:

‘You could say it was unfair, and that was true, but the universe didn’t care because it didn’t know what “fair” meant. That was the big problem about being a witch. It was up to you. It was always up to you.’ — Wintersmith

I am a witch or if I am not a fully formed one yet, that’s what I will be when I grow up. Crivens!

I cannot wait for the next book and my next adventure. 

Do you have roller coaster moments in your reading life? How do you rise again to ride the wave when you seem to be sinking? I’d love to know.