This week people on DorothyL are talking about whether or not they finish the books they start reading. I'm always running behind on reading posts on that list, so I'm always reluctant to post something, just in case the discussion has already moved on by the time I come up with a clever, pithy response.  And sometimes I just don't have anything to say -- at least not anything I want to say in public   But this topic got me thinking about my own reading habits. 

When I was younger, I finished every book I started, no matter what.  But that didn't last very long at all.  By the time I was a teenager, I was tossing books aside -- usually when the writing was simple and what I thought of as "obvious."  I prefer subtle, I guess. If the author bashes me over the head with something, insulting my intelligence with the assumption that I won't remember this subtle clue unless she focuses on it hard enough to make me remember, I'm usually outta there.

I started writing when I was very young. I can remember being in elementary school and knowing that I wanted to write mystery novels some day.  By the time I was 19, I was married and pregnant, and tapping out stories on a portable typewriter my family gave me for Christmas. Another 19 years later, I started writing seriously.

When I was 38, I made the commitment to write every day, rain or shine, in sickness or in health. That's when I started paying attention to the craft instead of writing from the seat of my pants. That's when I became dangerous as a reader.

Once I started learning my craft, I became a nasty, picky reader and that most dangerous of creatures: someone who knows a little bit about something and thinks they know it all.  Nobody escaped.  I read to critique, and believe me, I found plenty to curl my lip at.  The trouble with that was that I soon lost my love of reading, and since I've loved to read even longer than I've longed to write, the day I realized that I no longer enjoyed reading was one of the saddest days of my life.

I made a concentrated effort from that day on to read as a reader instead of a critic, and most of the time I succeed.  But there are books I can't finish, no matter how hard I try. Sometimes the writing makes me twitch. Sometimes it's the subject matter (though I'll admit that doesn't happen often.)  Usually when I can't finish a book it's because I still don't like the genre, even if AuthorX is one of the best, or because the writing is just so juvenile and obvious I can't overlook it, or because the plot simply doesn't interest me, or, in a few cases, because I find the protagonist either so unlikeable or so deadly dull, there's no point in reading because I just don't care what happens to him.

My favorite books are the ones that make me stretch, as a reader, as a human being, or as a writer. I love books written by someone who makes me wish I could write like that and books that open whole new worlds to me. I like books that offer a perspective on something I may not have considered before, and books that leave an imprint on my soul when I've finished. Sure, I read to be entertained, but entertainment alone isn't enough to earn a spot on my keeper shelf, or even to be logged onto the list of books I've read -- the one that exists only in my head because I never remember to actually write anything on an actual log. I may be picky, but I'm definitely not organized.