A reader sends me this piece and asks if this is how I read. I wish. According to web software, I only read about 600 words a minute, which is in the "above average, but not particularly impressive" range--though in fairness, I have a hard time taking those tests without thinking about how I'm reading, which makes it impossible to, y'know, read.
As a youngish adult, I read about a book a day, maybe a little more. But over the last few years, things have crept up on me. I spend a lot more time on the web, and going to panels and events than I used to of an evening. I don't always commute via train, which is prime reading time. And for the last few months, I've been in constant moving frenzy. Now I spend my days unpacking and contemplating the placement of approximately 60% more books than a four-room house can hold. Far too many of them are books I've been just about to read for three years; the housemate reports the same. Frankly, there ought to be a law about journalists living together.
The upshot is that since the first of the year, I've actually completed exactly four books: The Billionaire's Vinegar, Diary of a Real Estate Rookie, The Subprime Solution, and Of Human Bondage. By my count, that means I'm on track to read perhaps a hundred books this year. My New Year's Resolution to become better read already looks like a bust. On the other hand, I think I may well complete the expert level in Guitar Hero.
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