Reader’s block?

This will be a slight continuation of my last post, and a further idea about the notion of blocks.

I feel I’ve had a reader’s block for a while too. Well, I feel that way because it’s right. I can’t, off the top of my head, remember what the last book was that I finished. I’ve started many, but haven’t actually read a whole one in ages.

Books I should love and devour with ferver have been laid to the wayside and now gather dust.

The Great Gatsby – most of the way finished, but I got distracted and left the last 30 odd pages. Who knows why, all the people around me watching the movie have revealed the ending anyway. I won’t get back to that one.

Anna Karenina – about a third of the way in, but my god can Tolstoy beat around the bush. I think I simply got bored with that one. No one needs 5 chapters (possible exaggeration) on one character’s decision to run a farm, that, as far as I know, is not related to the main storyline. Sorry darl, but no thank you to that.

The High Hunt – by my favourite author (David Eddings), but out of his usual genre. It started out well, but in a moment of a little less action moving the story forward, I fell out with the characters – unlike me, as once I become invested it usually stays that way. Again, who knows why, but I’m sure I’ll pick it back up in the future.

Atonement (Ian McEwan) – originally a book from uni that I had to study, this was my second go at it. I knew the “big twist” ending from studying it, but not the apparently beautiful and intricate story that leads you there. After one of my reading sessions, I put the book down to go to sleep and simply never picked it up again. I wasn’t as far through as the first try either – at least that time I stopped because the class moved on and there were more books to be studied.

Love in the Time of Cholera – another that came to me as a result of uni. Not this title in particular, but another of his. I took Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s words and absorbed them into my core. I remember being so mesmerised by his prose alone, and I had to have more, so I bought this book. I read the first 20 or so pages of rhythmic beauty and couldn’t get myself excited like I was with Memories of My Melancholy Whores (yes, that’s his other book I read). So it too was added to my ever growing pile of unfinisheds.

I could go on with many more books, but those are ones that stand out in my mind. A reader’s block as well as a writer’s one. Perfect. Can’t create nor consume. I think the reader’s block stems from being all but forced to read so many books for uni. Some of which became my favourite books, one even gaining “favourite book ever” status. Although the ones that I didn’t fall in love with were horrendously hard to read even some of and write assignments about. That volume of input just made me have to slow down, and I think my brain took it a teensy step too far.

The inability to read something in its entirety was getting me down, but I have found writing out my last post and this one is helping. My internal struggles are eased by writing them out and writing through them. My blocks should be the same. I am hopeful that I’ll write through this creative block with things that come easily, then I’ll start on the more difficult parts.

I’m ecstatic to note that I’m 50 odd pages (out of 800) off finishing a book. A book that I adore, written by a man and woman I adore. More Eddings, in his (and his wife’s) true and glorious style. If you’re even the slightest bit of the high fantasy inclination, I’d recommend checking him out. This book is The Redemption of Althalus, by David and Leigh Eddings, and it seems this will mark the start of my redemption.

Here’s where I’ll leave you, Althalus and his triumphant victory over the forces of evil await, and I am tingling with excitement.

Until next time,



  1. I had a bad case of readers block, I put the book down and started writing.


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