When we last left our heroine, she was embarking on a trek to read twenty-four books, ten of them being non-fiction, one of those being a memoir, no more than eight of them being from the horror genre, and only two of them total being re-reads.
Well, here’s where our heroine is now…
She’s not being much of a heroine.
I’ve read eleven books so far. Not even half-way done. Of those eleven I’ve read, four have been non-fiction and seven have been fiction. Of the non-fiction, two have been re-reads (oops) and two have been memoirs (good job!). Of the fiction, three have been horror, three have been outside my comfort genres, none have been re-reads (yet), and two have been by folks like myself (good job!).
I fully admit to struggling with my reading this year. I don’t feel like it. Nothing sounds good. Nothing is what I want to read at the time. I’ve just been a real pain in the ass about it. And because I’ve been such a pain in the ass about it and I’ve been struggling with it, I haven’t been posting reviews of everything I’ve read. I’m thinking that I’ll just do a few more as I feel the need, and then just give a final list at the end of the year in case folks are looking for new titles. It’s not like my reviews are worth a whole lot to begin with. They were mostly just proof that I’d actually read what I said I’d read. This year you’re going to have to take my word for it.
I’ve got plenty of time to make up for what I haven’t been doing and make my goals. If I break it down, I’ve got seven more non-fiction to read (can’t count one of the re-reads), and seven more fiction (one of which can be a re-read).
It doesn’t look quite as overwhelming when I put it that way.
Except that it does.
Stupid math.
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