A Man is a Poor Substitute for a Good Book

I’ve been a voracious reader all my life. Sometimes reading five or six fat books a week.

But I’ve hit a patch of desert in the last few years. Nothing seems to be gripping, or gaining traction in my imagination as I’m reading. I used to have a stack of books I’d plow through because I simply couldn’t put them down, and now I have a stack of books I keep meaning to finish – but in various states of dog-eared progress, they gather dust on my nightstand.

In a panic I went to the bookstore and wandered and wandered. Picking up. Putting down. Reading back covers, first chapters and still – nothing has hooked me. So I bought a magazine and went to the register.

At checkout the girl asked, “Will this be all?”

I frowned, feeling like wind was blowing through the book-shaped gap in my physical body. I ached. Needing something. “Yeah, I replied. I can’t find a story. Sort of going through a book drought at the moment.”

Her shoulders rolled in and her eyebrows drew together as she melted against the counter lamenting in a piteous sigh, “Ohmigod. That’s such a terrible feeling! I hate that. I’m so sorry for you. Is there anything I can do to help?” Her ponytail bobbed and the rush of genuine pity and compassion made me feel strangely emotional.

I actually thought I might tear up. Then the ridiculousness of the moment hit me. Were two strangers going to get weepy over the lack of a book find?

“No, I’ll figure something out,” I said. “But thanks.”

“Anytime,” she replied returning to her all-business posture. “I just hate that feeling of emptiness when I can’t find a good book. It’s like not having a blanket when it’s cold, or no chocolate when you’ve been dumped, or no map when you’re in a new city.”

She couldn’t have been more than 19, with a stylish, well-kept appearance and an almost cheerleadery carriage. She was clearly sweet and friendly and the way she talked about books made me imagine her well-read.

And as she rang up my magazine and I said goodnight and she wished me luck, I thought. She’s right, of course, books have always been those things for me. They’ve been my vehicle to new ideas, human experiences, surrogate warmth and substitute chocolate. They’ve been my roadmap, translator, first class plane ticket, my adventure and faraway horizons.

And as I’ve spent the last few years up to my eyeballs in writing, story development, world building, character construction and craft – my mind has not been able to fit other stories in my brain. At best a movie here and there, short, shallow and visual – nothing that requires the inner-molten force of imagination.

I’ve missed it. I’ve missed the grip and spin, the light-speed acceleration into the mind of another character, world or plot. I’ve missed the tension, the ache and thrumming resonance of waiting for resolution, knowing it has to happen fearing that it won’t and then the perfect “click” when the story completes itself.

I even miss the miniature depression that follows the completion of a well-done story and that sad goodbye with characters you’ve come to love in the last six hours of reading, like you’d love your own best friend.

Try as I might, scrolling through the Amazon pages, the book review pages and the bookstore. Nothing is holding my attention.

It’s possible that the energy it takes to fold your mind around concepts and imagine faces, scenes and visualize action – has and is currently being spent, all that energy tied up on my own book development. It’s possible there’s just nothing left over at the moment.

It’s also possible, that I have a higher expectation of the stories I pick up, because I know more about what goes into creating them. Like a filmmaker or an actor is probably always dissecting the movie they’re watching – a writer will always be ripping apart what they’re reading.

Furthermore, it’s also a probability that a couple of other things are happening that I hadn’t noticed before. Namely, the homogenization of the genres. I pick up books being published today, and think – read this, heard this, seen this. Too familiar.

I used to joke to my friends who made fun of my smut addiction, “If you’ve read one trash romance, you’ve read them all.” That didn’t stop me from reading six or seven at a time though.

But recently – it has.

Also, with the book market being predominantly run by the same Big Six publishers and monitored by the “gate keeper” agents, they are out to make a profit. It’s a business. So if something was successful yesterday, they will try it again today. Not only that but because they MUST make profit, they are less likely to find or publish or risk on something new, fresh or unknown. Stay safe. Go with what has a history of making money. The trouble is, with readers like myself who’ve read nearly every published book in their favorite genres – we’ve seen it all already. We want something new. Something with substance.

This ultimately means that of the 250 books on the Barnes and Noble shelf, in my favorite spectrum to read – over half of them are about Vampires or Zombies – neither of which interest me in the slightest. I can’t throw a book in a bookstore without hitting a YA paranormal romance, Vampire, Zombie or Werewolf book – and those aren’t so much my genre. And it seems fewer books in my favorite genres are being produced and published by the Big Six.

So in an attempt to find books that are newer and fresher, I’ve turned to Amazon and the Kindle. Indie Authors who didn’t make it through the “gate-keeper’s eye of the needle” to be published because they didn’t fit the “previous repetitious marketable surety”. The same demographic that I myself fit into. These are my people, they’re risking on me, so I’ll risk on them.

Trouble is, while many of them have fresh, exciting ideas and plots – they have not had the benefit of a professional editorial team to polish their work, or package their product. How could they? Who can afford that? I can’t even afford that, which is why I’m having a fundraiser for it.

But what they have in spades in originality they lose in poor execution. I hear people say things like, “Well, only snobby people care about spelling and grammar.” Or “No one looks that close at the plot, readers only care about, yadda yadda.”

The truth is – I’m a reader. Likely your reader. And I’m not a snob, but I care about anything – ANYTHING that will unlock my brain from the story. So if I’m reading along at light speed, with advanced reader-comprehension and my brain stumbles over a typo, okay, I can recover. But if my brain trips and trips and then falls over multiple typos, spelling issues or plot holes then I have to work two or three of five times as hard to stay in the story groove and burn extra imagination and visual power to cover the gaps. Which means, MY BRAIN is doing YOUR WORK.

That’s not to say there aren’t going to be mistakes or flaws in a book. Hell, I’ve even stumbled over typos in books published by ToR or Penguin. And my own blog posts are full of typos. But as an indie author, I know I need to do everything I can to keep the reader in the story once they buy the book. Not just for them and their experience, but for the sake of the story. The story deserves respect and a chance to thrive outside my head, living independent and free.

I sympathize with the indie authors because I am one. I know how hard it is to edit. I hate it. I’m a terrible speller and I suck at grammar which is why I need the external help. I sympathize with the funding needs for professional development. I don’t have the funds either. But I will find a way. Because I respect the readers who will buy this book and take time out of their lives to hopefully enjoy it.

So in a roundabout tangent – getting off course, I come back to the book drought. I’ve downloaded 30 books on my Kindle, and have a stack of a dozen more in my room for picking up sometime when my head is less crammed with my own characters.

But am I the only devoted reader who is struggling right now with the book market?

Am I the only person with commitment issues with new stories?

If you’re struggling with the book market or a story drought, what do you attribute it to and how do you think you’ll overcome it?

I hope there’s a cure soon. This book-sized gap in my chest is aching something fierce. And if I can’t find a story soon I might have to do something rash or foolish and try to fill the gap with the presence of…. a man.

And a man is a poor substitute for a good book.