I used to read a lot. I was always in the library, combing the shelves for treasure. In recent years I haven’t read that much. Not sure why, but blaming the siren song of my mobile is probably a good bet! ;-)
Last year I did read quite a few books. At first without really realising it, but then I wanted to read more. I guess it was/is a kind of escapism. The world seems pretty bleak right now and the escapism I used to find on Instagram, and Twitter, is not the same. Sometimes adding to the feeling of the world going to hell in a hand cart. Especially Twitter!
But books are not connected to the rest of the world 24/7. They are their own world. With a sort of quiet that I really need right now, somewhere for my mind to take a little break.
This year I have actively been reading more. It was a goal from the start of the year: to read more than I did in 2017. Hopefully, a lot more. I haven’t counted how many books I’ve read so far, but I reckon that I have ‘beat’ my score from last year. Not that it’s a competition!
Sometimes I wonder about to read next. Especially when I’ve just finished a book I really liked. But I’ve found out that I really don’t need to worry about that. Books have a habit of appearing.
People recommend books on their blogs or Instagram, or I stumble upon interesting titles on Amazon. I’ve also made it a habit of looking in the box of ex-library books when I return/pick up books I have reserved. Occasionally, there will be a gem there I wouldn’t otherwise have known to look for.
There is no shortage of books! I look for them but I’m sure they seek me out. If that makes sense? Books want to be found. They want to be read.