Quick update before business: I was a little disappointed with the WordPress “Writing Challenge” – as it seemed to be less about writing, and more about utilising WordPress. I wanted an actual “writing challenge”. Something that would force me utilise creativity and imagination. Like an obstacle course of writing…
But, the newest one seems to be on board with what I was hoping for – so I will be doing that and posting when I get a chance! So! Onto the rest of my post which has a very awkward segue right about… now.
Also, regarding challenges: I decided not to do a new Goodreads challenge this year. I completed my challenge of 50 books last year, and while all well and good (and oh yes, satisfying), I didn’t like the pressure of having to read new books every week in order to keep up.
I am the type of person who loves to re-read books. I could never understand the folk who will buy and read a book once, and then pass it on. I mean, that’s all well and good, and how else would I buy second-hand books? But to me, not re-reading is like saying “Well, I already had chocolate once. I don’t need to have it again.”
Of course, you don’t need to read it again, but you can always derive enjoyment or pleasure from re-reading a novel. This is true, regardless of genre. I can re-read a mystery, romance, or fantasy. Sometimes, if it’s been long enough, it’ll be like new again! (Imagine watching The Sixth Sense again, but not remembering the twist). It’s kinda like that. But for some books, it’ll be like the way I watch Friends reruns. Yes, I’ve seen them all a million times, but they still make me laugh! Some books are like that. I don’t need to pay attention to the plot, I can almost quote the characters by heart, and it’s such a relaxing way to unwind for me.
I suppose the problem that comes with this habit, is that my ever-growing collection of books will always have a portion of them unread by me. I collect new and used books constantly, yet instead of reading them right away, I will often go back to an old favourite. Yet, I can’t stop hoarding more books. Why? I suppose I am a bibliophile, but my joy comes from having the range and selection to pick up something new, but also the option to stick with a comfortable old favourite. Do I take book-collecting to a somewhat pointless extreme?
Perhaps, but I find I’m okay with that.