Reader’s block, and consuming more than we create
We're trapped in a cycle of mindless consumption with little creation.
This year, for the first time in five years, I very intentionally did not set myself a Goodreads reading challenge.
I was at university for a fleeting three years, which felt like even less thanks to the pandemic; and I would set myself a challenge of 52 books every year, in the hopes that I’d successfully devour at least one book a week.
I never met that goal. Instead, December would roll around and I’d be on a measly 30-something streak. Then, I’d hurriedly cram in 10 to 15 reads in the last month in a bid to achieve this perfunctory productivity goal.
Don’t get me wrong, the dopamine hit from almost meeting an always-too-ambitious goal was great. But this year, I actually sat down and questioned why I wanted to read 52 books a year. And the answer was that I didn’t. In previous years, I’d dialled down the goal to a manageable 20 reads, but this year, I decided to forego the whole challenge. I thought removing these restrictive confines would actually galvanize me to read more. Maybe this would be the year I hit an organic 52 because I was finally free from the shackles of my productivity complex.
It’s October now, and I’ve read two books, and I’m currently rotating through six unfinished ones. That’s not even double digits.
I read a lot. I have to – it’s basically an intrinsic part of my job. If we had a reading challenge based on the number of words we consumed, I would have probably read the equivalent of 100 books. But I don’t count that as reading. It’s just my routine. I have to keep on top of the news.
To me, reading was always a separate, mindful activity in which I entered my flow state. I liked that it elicited a melange of emotions; it expanded my perception of the world. The feeling of being visibly moved after finishing a (what felt like) life-altering novel or evocative poem is unparalleled.
My degree in comparative literature offered me a crucial loophole during this time, however. While reading these books, I had to analyse the language and the contexts in which it was produced. I used to spend hours pondering the meaning of a full stop or a meticulously-placed adjective. This exercise allowed me to balance out the consumption of this literature with a degree of creation. I wasn’t just absorbing these words, I was critiquing them. Out of the 40 books I usually read in a year, I would have written an essay meticulously analysing 20 of them. That really energised me.
Now, I don’t have the same outlet. My friend once told me that we feel out of balance when we consume more than we create. I’ve been trying to push myself to consume this literary oeuvre in a bid to overcome my reader’s block, but I can’t do that because I’m so depleted by the process.
Running to recharge
I recently came across an excerpt from a commencement speech delivered by the American cartoonist Bill Watterson, who illustrated the comic strip ‘Calvin and Hobbes’. It encapsulated why the process of taking in creative content needs to be balanced by an ability to recreate it constructively:
“We're not really taught how to recreate constructively. We need to do more than find diversions; we need to restore and expand ourselves. Our idea of relaxing is all too often to plop down in front of the television set and let its pandering idiocy liquefy our brains. Shutting off the thought process is not rejuvenating; the mind is like a car battery-it recharges by running.
You may be surprised to find how quickly daily routine and the demands of "just getting by: absorb your waking hours. You may be surprised matters of habit rather than thought and inquiry. You may be surprised to find how quickly you start to see your life in terms of other people's expectations rather than issues. You may be surprised to find out how quickly reading a good book sounds like a luxury.”
The idea that something “recharges by running” speaks to the idea that consumption is satiated by creation. If we insipidly absorb all these forms of culture around us without actually taking the time to digest and apply that knowledge, then I can see how it can expend our creative sensibilities.
Last year, I watched a Studio Ghibli film called ‘Kiki’s Delivery Service’. It’s evergreen, but especially ripe in autumn — a time I see somehow both as a catalyst for new beginnings, and a period for winding down. Kiki, the young witch who is attempting to practice her magic, loses her ability to do so. In a bout of frustration, she escapes to the woods (dreamy, I know), and meets Ursula, a painter, who tells Kiki that she just needs to take some time out, enjoy her life, and the magic will come back.
I think that’s a beautiful metaphor for my own predicament. I’ve been so insistent on forcing myself to guzzle down these books, that I’ve felt so frustrated when I physically cannot bring myself to finish them. But I have to remind myself of two things:
Books are not the only artistic medium I consume. I have a voracious appetite for exploring art galleries and producing artwork; I listen to a lot of music, and I read many Substacks and news articles and op-eds and investigations. I am constantly consuming.
Because I am constantly consuming, I cannot expect myself to continue on this trajectory without a circuit break. That means, yes, a reading hiatus. But also, cultivating a medium that allows me to create. I love to paint and draw. And now, here I am, writing my first Substack post 10 months after pondering about it.
I guess a reader’s block was the impetus I needed to write this post. The irony of that isn’t lost on me. I hope that I can now continue to create, mindfully consume — and at some point, finish reading those damn novels.