Book Addiction and the Two-Month Promise

As many of you may know, I am an addict. A book addict. And a recovering book-store owner.

I have a lot of books. A lot of books.

And yet I keep buying more. And more. Now, as addictions go, this is not a bad one. Cheaper than many addictions, and more intellectually wholesome. But still, a compulsion is a compulsion. Now, the heart of this addiction is, of course, reading. I don't merely collect for the sake of collecting. And I pretty much have to have a book on the go at all times. If not, I feel discombobulated, weird, unsettled. Leave it too long and I'd probably get the shakes. A compulsion is a compulsion, and withdrawal is withdrawal.

Now, I have no interest in stopping reading (nor could I, most likely). But I have decided to attempt a two-month book-buying hiatus.

My sister inspired me. She's also a book nut, and somehow went six months without buying a book. My wife, when hearing this, turned to me and asked, "Do you think you could go six months without buying a book?"

The answer, of course, was laughter. The sheer impossibility of entertaining the mere thought...

But I also just had a birthday. My wife bought me two books, and I received three book gift cards, which in turn netted me another eight books. So, ten books. Shiny, lovely, full of the most perfect paper (book paper is the best paper).

So I started thinking. Six months? That's like trying to climb Everest without so much as attempting a toboggan hill first. But two months? Just until Christmas? With all my books, I certainly shan't go without great books to read. Could I do it?

We shall see. I will attempt it: The Two-Month Promise. I will not buy a book for two months.

I figure the odss are like, oh, 22-1. Against. But if it was easy, it wouldn't be worth anything. Right?

Calling out the White Dudes

Okay, go read this:

http://www.therejectionist.com/2012/02/special-guest-post-meg-clark-on.html

Basically, Meg Clark points out a bunch of stupid things said by Jonathan Franzen about women, women writers, and (in particular) Edith Wharton. Her response is super smart and, you know, pretty funny.

But what I was thinking was that when a White Dude says something stupid on this general topic, a few things occur:

1) A bunch of really smart women write really awesome replies, and you can often find them on the blogosphere. Like Meg's. If you haven't read it yet, do so now. (If you don't, I will take away all your cookies and beer)

2) The mainstream response is limited. Perhaps publications simply don't want to go against the status quo (especially a status quo they've helped build), or perhaps they think it a given that these responses by women simply aren't valuable (the "Oh, those are just the angry feminists" response that completely pisses me off). Mainstream avenues for replies to such comments seem limited, particularly for women. Mostly for the above reasons, I'm guessing, but partly, perhaps, because some of the women who do have mainstream influence won't step up, or at least typically haven't done so -- for fear of rocking the boat? for fear of being labelled and written off? for fear of not being taken seriously? Which is a valid concern, in the sense that there is a large cultural arena in which the depowering response to the lash of such voices is to simply laugh them off. "Oh, those are just the feminists." Which infuriates me, as it is utterly arrogant to dismiss other viewpoints without even being willing to engage them. Ignoring honest discourse is a response of the worst kind. Of course, the problem is that we allow people to get away with this. We don't call them on this. And we should.

3) You don't hear much from other White Dudes. I'm guessing, speaking as a White Dude, that many of us don't notice the problem (failing to see the ramifications, for instance, of what Franzen says), have fallen prey to the "Oh, that's just the feminists" argument, or are simply nervous about stepping up, either to challenge the manly manly words of the Franzens ("Maybe people will think I'm not masculine enough!") or for trying to say something when the lovely Meg Clarks of the world can say it better (and the feeling might be that the Meg Clarks have more of a right to speak on the matter -- which may even be true, I don't know, but that doesn't excuse silence).

So! I'm calling out the Whtie Dudes. First, for the White Dudes like me to stop saying stupid White-Dudeish things. And second, for the White Dudes to stand up when another White-Dude says something stupid and say "That's stupid." Well, you can be more polite than this. I mean, I am Canadian (though some of us aren't polite: shhhhh). But silence is permissive. Silence says "Keep talking, Mr. Franzen, we're all in your corner."

But I kind of like Meg Clark' corner. So, you know, I'll hold her spit-bucket while the fight goes on, and I ain't throwin' in the white towel.

The Year of Reading Books I Already Own

My house looks like this:

 * not actual picture of house


One of the things about being a compulsive book buyer, and the former owner of a bookstore, is that I have built a rather wicked personal library. Having first dibs on any book that was ever brought into my store was, shall we say, rather nice.

This means my house is full of awesome books to read, across a wide variety of genres. Something for all occasions! And I keep buying more. It's possible I shall soon have to annex a small township to provide the proper space.

It also happens, though, that I probably have less time to read now than at any other time in my life. Or, at least, less time for leisure reading. As an editor, my day job is mostly words, words, words. Which is good. But balancing a more-than-full-time job with three (soon to be four) kids, two cats, and a lovely wife, and then squeezing in time for my own writing (and blog), leaves less time for personal reading (well, comparatively; I still, um, read a lot).

This has been percolating in my head for a while, and it's led me to a new goal for the year: I'm going to focus on reading the books I already own. First, because I own a huge array of amazing books that I want to read. Second, maybe I can save a little money. Third, I'm running out of book space. And fourth, I'll probably still buy books.

Just a lot less of them.

Cold turkey won't work (I'd die). There are still certain writers whose books I will buy immediately (I'm looking at you, C-Mac. And you, A-Patch.). For example, I came across a book at a used book store a couple weeks ago, and it was something that I was planning on ordering. And it was in great condition. And it was five dollars. SOLD.

But I also saw lots of other interesting books there. In times past, they might have joined my personal hoard/horde. But I resisted. The new immigration policy seems to be working (no electric border fence for me, though).

So: prudence! My old friend! Okay, my new casual acquaintance, who I will try to spend some quality time with and get to know better.

New policy: Read My Own Books.

Strange, strange, I know. But it's my plan. Occasional book purchases: okay. I mean, I like to support writers with my money, but it has to work on my end, too. Balance, balance, balance. Also, some Feng Shui, as I'm running out of house space.

And, if successful, maybe my house will look like this:

Guest Posting in Mordor

Hey folks, just wanted to say that I have a guest post up at the Rejectionist's bloghouse.

Really, she's much more friendly than she looks. Come join the fun. There are free cookies!



Okay, I lied about the cookies.

Biting and Scratching

Happy New Year!

Even though New Year's and I get along like this:



Get too close, New Year's, and I won't be paying the medical bills.


So! Yes! We shall enter this newest of years biting and scratching! In honor of said bites and scraches there shall be resolutions!

1. Reduce coffee intake. Your excessive caffeine vibrations are damaging the furniture.

2. Finish editing WIP. At least to the point where some paid professional has further advice.

3. Finish revising sequel. Which is better than the original, so it would be a terrible shame if no one decides to publish said original.

4. Finish revising Lit novel. Okay, I'm already getting tired.

5. Rewrite other Lit novel. Keep awesome parts. Add more awesome parts. Cut the shitty parts, particularly the ones that don't make any sense. Keep cool chapter titles. Ignore growing weariness and fatigue. Up vitamin intake. Perhaps start disregarding resolution number 1.

6. Write new novel. Oh the glory! I like writing first drafts of novels. One must be done this year. Or... piranhas will eat my head. *piranhas must pay for all travel costs and accomodations and arrive on their own convenience and the writer of this blog will hold no responsibility for failure of said piranhas to arrive and eat his head in a timely manner upon failure of meeting the demands of resolution number 6

7. Occasionally get off chair and run, so as to prevent complete atrophy of all major muscle groups outside the fingers. Do Terry Fox run in autumn. Lie to self and pretend that self will one day run a marathon.

7. Do not ignore children for too long. Check for spores, molds and fungi at regular intervals.

8. Read more fantasy this year. The time has come. The prophecy foretells the coming of a voracious reader in old sweat pants...

9. Read more crime novels. Dead people are strangely soothing. Go figure.

10. Keep writing flash fiction as an attempt at stopping uncontrollable wordiness. Try to actually meet own flash fiction standards of length as posted. Let yourself drink one (1) coffee every time this is accomplished. Bunches of one-word "stories" whose sole meaning of existence is to garner mugs of coffee shall be disqualified.


Let us now sound the trumpets, bare our claws, and meet the new year head on. Hamstringing it from behind is also acceptable behaviour, so my cats tell me. Go forth. But multiply, you know, only if you want to.