In Stephen King’s book, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft, King suggests that the greatest way to become a better writer is to read a lot. Not just here and there or every once in a while, but intentionally and often. King reads between 70-80 books a year, even though he claims to be slow.
So how does he do it?
He carries a book around everywhere with him.
On his morning commute, at the gym, around the house, in waiting queues, and as he peruses restaurant menus a book is never more than an arm's length away, tethered to his side like a faithful companion. King argues that to find the time to read, one must make the space. In doing so, one might realize that the space was always there all along, being filled with another void of pleasure or interest.
“The trick is to teach yourself to read in small sips as well as long swallows.”
- Stephen King
I have always had a deep love for reading. From a young age, I read just about anything and everything I could get my hands on. My favorites were always the Harry Potter, Narnia, and Lord of the Rings series. I couldn’t get enough. I often would use these fictional tales as inspiration for many of the short stories that I would compose in the little black and white moleskin journal I lugged around with me everywhere I went. Most of my writing stayed in the confinement of the little writing journal, but some made their way into comic strips that I would sell on the school bus after class each day, illustrated by yours truly. The money earned went into a little white envelope that would be used to purchase new video games or action figures that I wanted. I was living the dream.
As I grew older, my love of reading continued and soon I was engrossed in the ever-expanding realm of philosophy. In college, I debated double-majoring in philosophy and world history but found security in the promise of more career opportunities in theology (which is quite ironic because I also didn’t want to be a minister). Fortunately for me, philosophy and history were an integral part of my curriculum as a blossoming theology major and I instantly fell in love with all of the reading I was “assigned” to do by the institution (I put assigned in quotations because to me, the reading didn’t feel like a burden, but an exciting invitation to unwind and get good grades all at the same time).
As I neared graduation, I began to notice that I was growing quite tired of the rigorous reading routine. I had books on church history, moral philosophy, existential psychology, and even one on the history of antisemitism. While they were all incredibly fascinating, plum full of rich wisdom for the reader to glean from, I grew weary. This was only exacerbated by my decision to jump into graduate school immediately following college.
Following college, my enjoyment of reading had all but faded away, hidden behind ink-blotted words and almond-smelling paper. I was done. I read what was necessary to pass seminary, but I no longer had the same spark to pick up a book. They all became a chore. The vessel that once could instantaneously transport me to distant worlds or sit me down with profound leaders and teachers oozing with insight and percipience suddenly shut down, the power supply stripped and tattered with no ability to turn back on.
Months passed. Then years. I kept throwing myself inside of bookstores hoping to reignite the magic of reading, but it was all for nothing. I took to writing instead. But that too had grown stale and the words never came out how I would have liked them to.
One autumn day, as I sat on the patio of my favorite local coffee shop, I decided to flip open Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. I felt time slip away as I stepped aboard the all-too-familiar Hogwarts Express and was welcomed back into the School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. For the first time in years, I stopped forcing myself to read only to learn and instead let myself be swept away in magnificent storytelling.
It worked.
As my love for reading was reborn, my gusto for writing seemingly returned. Out of the dust came a new creative energy, one that yearned to be harnessed and given. Thus I yielded, reshaping the place reading and writing had in my life to keep either of them from feeling like a chore, or some petty item on a to-do list.
But one thing was certain; I wanted to read. I hated the time I spent on my iPhone, mindlessly sucked into the sinkhole of comparison and menial content generation.
One day, I took King’s advice and replaced my iPhone with whatever book I was reading. I carried books around in my leather satchel whenever I was in public, took them with me when I left for work each day, and kept one on our kitchen island when I was home. Every time I felt tempted to pick up my phone and scroll, I grabbed a book.
And I must concede, King was right.
I flew through books at a much faster rate. My mindset shifted and I found my attention span increased. I no longer needed the quick dopamine hits from YouTube Shorts, and instead was excited to spend even 3 minutes in A Clash of Kings in between patient visits in hospice care.
Of course, I must add, this was something I wanted to do. I didn’t feel like I needed to. If I didn’t desire to read, this would have just been another to-do list to instill shame when the bar wasn’t met, or a torture method instead of an enjoyable pastime.
For me to maintain a healthy relationship with this new habit, I formed two foundational rules to prevent burnout:
1. I read whatever interested me, not what I “thought” I needed to read.
I allowed myself to grab fiction books just as often as I picked up nonfiction, or more perhaps. I dropped the need to read to learn and let myself read for fun again.
2. I keep my reading goal light. I’m not Stephen King (and frankly I don’t want to be. I want to be me).
I do keep track of how many books I read every year, but I don’t feel pressure to “hit a certain goal” or read as fast as possible just for the sake of skimming words on paper. This means that some days, I read 2 pages while other days I might read 50. I let myself enjoy other hobbies as well, including playing my guitar or unwinding with a video game. It is a really important balance for me.
I definitely get weird looks or some sly comments every once in a while. I remember one day as I was standing in line waiting for a burrito, a middle aged man approached me and stated, “Odd place to read a novel, wouldn’t you say?”
To which I responded, “I suppose it’s just as peculiar as skimming social media on the toilet, wouldn’t you say?”
He smirked and conceded.
I learned this year that the cure for writers block is reading. So many times I find the inspiration reading something else. It doesn’t have to have a related topic. It’s amazing how many light-bulb-moments happen while reading. Thank you!
So good! I've been trying to read more myself this year, often bringing a book to read on lunch break instead of scrolling through my phone. And I've loved it! It's been so nice to read for enjoyment, and even pick up some nonfiction books to learn from that now I have "time" for (because time is relative, ya know?).
The same thinking applies to art too! As an artist, there's times I hit artist's block, and there's nothing that inspires me more than looking through my older art pieces or other artists' work!
And love that last line, man! Nice one haha. ;)