Competing against myself.

The end of the year usually brings a round-up of the old and a desire to start everything anew. That same feeling must be what pushes everyone into making New Year resolutions. I've never been one for resolutions – they always seem too idealistic and unrealistic. At the start of the year I decided to do something just as stupid; commit myself to a Goodreads book challenge. At the time, it didn't seem all that crazy. I'd done it the previous year and had been happy with the results. I set the number at 55 – and the goal seemed simple. Read 55 books in a year, complete the challenge, go home happy. Most of us read often enough, but by setting a goal it feels like running a race or completing a marathon – with much less physical exertion involved.

This year I went a little crazy and set my challenge at 365 books. It's been a little stressful. I mustn't have been thinking straight when I made it, because reading a book a day is insane, even for an enthusiastic reader. I'm a really fast reader and have been that way forever. I guess it's a bit of a skill, but it's also frustrating when I'm reading a great book and am dying to stretch it out and enjoy it forever. A book a day isn't impossible, but it's pretty intimidating. Reading has always been an escape for me, but now it's a bit of an obligation. I'm probably making this all sound a lot more dramatic than it really is. Sure, it's a little stressful, always thinking that I'm 1 or 4 or even 7 books behind schedule, but it's also fun because I am extremely competitive (even in this competition against... myself). 

I've read a lot of books this year, and, I have to be honest, not all of them have been quality literature. Sure, I read books that have been recommended to me, and every so often something great comes up, but for the most part I tend to read a lot of really average literature. I'm drawn towards a lot of young adult fiction, dystopian and post-apocalyptic stuff in particular, but the things I read tend to come in genre-specific waves. I love a good, depressing memoir about childhood. Something that really makes me cry. Anything where the narrator rises victorious at the end. I've been reading a lot of books about shipwrecks and life rafts. At one point I was really into Stockholm Syndrome, and read a lot of books in a vain attempt to find something decent. Warning: everything labeled Stockholm Syndrome is really about BDSM and horrible, abusive characters. Don't make the same mistake I did. There's been a lot of rubbish, but there have also been a lot of diamonds in the rough, and those books make it all worthwhile.