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A writer that doesn't read?
Nise's Notes
by Denise Schoppe
The Marlin Democrat
August 04, 2004
I have a confession to make. Okay, okay, okay. ANOTHER confession to make.
For someone who likes to write, I don’t read much.
One would think that the two go hand-in-hand, but some where along the way that ceased to be true for me.
Growing up, I was a book hound. My favorite store was the bookstore. I could devour a 250-page book in less than an hour. It was like giving water to someone in the desert. Books were my food and the characters within them my friends.
There was Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny. (The Boxcar Children) Meg, Charles Wallace and Calvin (Wrinkle in Time) along with Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit and Mrs. Which carried me to lands unknown and began to introduce me to science fiction. Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, Stacey, Dawn, Jessie and Mallory (The Baby-Sitters Club) showed me what true friendship could be as well as harboring a sense of responsibility for those younger than myself. Finally, Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield (The Sweet Valley Series) are the twin girls I grew up with all the way into college.
Obviously, when I was growing up, the thought of finding me anywhere without a book in hand was ridiculous. I read in the car. I read sitting in a tree. I read upside down in a chair in the living room. I read under the covers with a flashlight late at night.
Reading is an amazing thing to do. Within the pages of a book, one is transported to another time and place. For the cost of $5.00 to purchase a paperback book, a trip to foreign lands can be taken. Lessons untold can be discovered.
I give credit to the volume of reading I did growing up for my successes in school as well as in life. One would be amazed the things that can be learned in a book. There were countless times in school that I knew the answers to the most random questions, because I’d read it somewhere. I regularly find myself in situations that should shake me up, but instead I feel I’ve experienced them before through the eyes of a character in a book.
However, despite knowing all of this, I don’t read much anymore. I’m not really sure why, either.
In college, a period in my life when free time was scarce, I found the time to finish multiple novels. It was a nice escape from textbooks and the stresses of classes. I’d sit in my chair in the lecture hall or on a bench in the warm sunshine with my nose stuck in a book. It took months to complete what would have taken me less than two days to read as a child. However, I did it. I finished them.
Now, though, I haven’t even been able to finish books that I previously read. They are books that require little thinking, and really only ask that I quickly skim the words.
Time. Patience. Distractions. They all are factors in my lack of reading.
I’m rarely a passenger in a vehicle anymore these days, and reading a book while trying to keep a vehicle between the lines isn’t a bright move. At home, the draw of the Internet or the mind-numbing effects of today’s television draw me away from the stacks of incomplete books that litter my shelves. There is always something “more important” to do.
In a move to counteract my apparent lack of interest in reading, I recently made a trip to the bookstore in search of just that perfect book to jumpstart my reading.
Once there, I was surrounded by beautiful, beautiful books. (I still love to read... I just don’t DO it.) There were mysteries, romance novels, self-help books, new age, travel, reference, young adult, children’s, journals... The list goes on and on and on! So many books. So many pretty covers. So many words. How would I choose just that ONE perfect book?
I took on the task, though, and opted to first go with an author I’d previously read and whose style liked. From that decision, I went through their books until I found one on a topic I felt I’d enjoy.
With my new friend in hand, I went to the register to check out, grabbing a magazine on the way just in case the book thing didn’t work out. Five minutes and $12.00 later I emerged from the store with my purchases and a smile.
It feels good to have a new book to read and a new adventure to take. It sits ready for me to begin. Its colorful cover unblemished; its spine uncracked. I hope I actually finish it. It would be a waste if it were to join my other books as dust catchers, doorstops and the occasional booster seat.
No, this time, I’m going to do it. I’m going to finish it.
I hope.
Nise's Notes
by Denise Schoppe
The Marlin Democrat
August 04, 2004
I have a confession to make. Okay, okay, okay. ANOTHER confession to make.
For someone who likes to write, I don’t read much.
One would think that the two go hand-in-hand, but some where along the way that ceased to be true for me.
Growing up, I was a book hound. My favorite store was the bookstore. I could devour a 250-page book in less than an hour. It was like giving water to someone in the desert. Books were my food and the characters within them my friends.
There was Henry, Jessie, Violet and Benny. (The Boxcar Children) Meg, Charles Wallace and Calvin (Wrinkle in Time) along with Mrs. Who, Mrs. Whatsit and Mrs. Which carried me to lands unknown and began to introduce me to science fiction. Kristy, Claudia, Mary Anne, Stacey, Dawn, Jessie and Mallory (The Baby-Sitters Club) showed me what true friendship could be as well as harboring a sense of responsibility for those younger than myself. Finally, Elizabeth and Jessica Wakefield (The Sweet Valley Series) are the twin girls I grew up with all the way into college.
Obviously, when I was growing up, the thought of finding me anywhere without a book in hand was ridiculous. I read in the car. I read sitting in a tree. I read upside down in a chair in the living room. I read under the covers with a flashlight late at night.
Reading is an amazing thing to do. Within the pages of a book, one is transported to another time and place. For the cost of $5.00 to purchase a paperback book, a trip to foreign lands can be taken. Lessons untold can be discovered.
I give credit to the volume of reading I did growing up for my successes in school as well as in life. One would be amazed the things that can be learned in a book. There were countless times in school that I knew the answers to the most random questions, because I’d read it somewhere. I regularly find myself in situations that should shake me up, but instead I feel I’ve experienced them before through the eyes of a character in a book.
However, despite knowing all of this, I don’t read much anymore. I’m not really sure why, either.
In college, a period in my life when free time was scarce, I found the time to finish multiple novels. It was a nice escape from textbooks and the stresses of classes. I’d sit in my chair in the lecture hall or on a bench in the warm sunshine with my nose stuck in a book. It took months to complete what would have taken me less than two days to read as a child. However, I did it. I finished them.
Now, though, I haven’t even been able to finish books that I previously read. They are books that require little thinking, and really only ask that I quickly skim the words.
Time. Patience. Distractions. They all are factors in my lack of reading.
I’m rarely a passenger in a vehicle anymore these days, and reading a book while trying to keep a vehicle between the lines isn’t a bright move. At home, the draw of the Internet or the mind-numbing effects of today’s television draw me away from the stacks of incomplete books that litter my shelves. There is always something “more important” to do.
In a move to counteract my apparent lack of interest in reading, I recently made a trip to the bookstore in search of just that perfect book to jumpstart my reading.
Once there, I was surrounded by beautiful, beautiful books. (I still love to read... I just don’t DO it.) There were mysteries, romance novels, self-help books, new age, travel, reference, young adult, children’s, journals... The list goes on and on and on! So many books. So many pretty covers. So many words. How would I choose just that ONE perfect book?
I took on the task, though, and opted to first go with an author I’d previously read and whose style liked. From that decision, I went through their books until I found one on a topic I felt I’d enjoy.
With my new friend in hand, I went to the register to check out, grabbing a magazine on the way just in case the book thing didn’t work out. Five minutes and $12.00 later I emerged from the store with my purchases and a smile.
It feels good to have a new book to read and a new adventure to take. It sits ready for me to begin. Its colorful cover unblemished; its spine uncracked. I hope I actually finish it. It would be a waste if it were to join my other books as dust catchers, doorstops and the occasional booster seat.
No, this time, I’m going to do it. I’m going to finish it.
I hope.
