Happy Birthday to Me!

So, it's my birthday.  45.  And my birthday present to myself is more reading.  I haven't read something just because I wanted to in way too long.  I'm now determined to get in at least twelve books before my next birthday.  That's a really pathetic goal.  When I was young and foolish, I could read a novel every two days.

We didn't have social media in those days.

I'm also undertaking a challenge.  Back in 2015, Sunili Govinnage kind of kicked off a movement to challenge people's reading habits: For a year, don't read anything by white cis- males.  I'm proud to say that I only felt patriarchy-induced butthurt about that for a few minutes.  I didn't immediately undertake to do it, though.

Now I am.  With a few exceptions.

  • I write chidlren's books, and I'm in the process of learning the field.  I will have to read some white guys in pursuit of my education.
  • Similarly, non-fiction read as research for my writing is exempted.  But NF isn't really in the spirit of the challenge anyway.
  • When the new Dresden Files novel comes out, I'm reading that.  I'm sorry, everybody.  I have my weaknesses.

I'm going to start my year by reading Tracked, by Jenny Martin.  I've had it since it was published, and haven't read it yet.  (I'm a bad writer-friend.)