No Time to Write

I haven’t written much lately. That’s because I’ve been busy. I’ve been working. I’ve been meeting people. I’ve been going to concerts. I’ve been preparing a concert at school. I’ve been trying to write another blog post (but failed doing so). I’ve been making a list for another bookshelf at the library. I’ve been preparing a lecture. I’ve been writing down ideas for more lectures. Like I said, I’ve been busy. So busy, in fact, that I haven’t really had time to read for fun. Want to know whether I should feel sorry for myself? Read on!

Last month, when I was in Barcelona, I received a phone call. I was asked whether I wanted to do a lecture in this cool book series about world literature, and of course I said yes. All I had to do was to read a book, This Earth of Mankind by Indonesian writer Pramoedya Ananta Toer, which I had never heard about but which sounded really exciting. Of course I bought the book and I started reading it straight away. It was very interesting, and I learned so much about Indonesia and how the Netherlands looked down on that country. Still, part of me kept wishing that I could read something just because I liked it. Somehow, reading a book because you have to isn’t always as much fun as reading because you want to.

Last January, I had to read Jeanette Winterson’s Night Side of the River because we were hosting a new book club, Books and Booze, which means that you’re served a drink while discussing a book (sounds great, right? More on that later!). Later that same month, I had to read The Boy Who Loved the World by Tjibbe Veldkamp because I am in another bookclub. I had to read The Shadow of the Wind because I was in Barcelona (oh, poor me…) and I feel like I have to read books set in the place I’m visiting. And I’m leaving for Paris (poor, poor me…) in a couple of days, which means I have to start thinking about which books I want to bring.

I also had to read Nancy Springer’s Enola Holmes and the Case of the Missing Marquess (no blog on that, I’m afraid, because I couldn’t find anything interesting or even remotely enjoyable in it) because we’re reading that one for school, and I had to read another Dutch book for my book club, called If, Then by Hanneke Bijl (subtitled ‘a logical novel’ it’s a philosophical exploration how exactly what logical reasoning can bring us). While I liked reading most of them (I’m looking at your, Nancy Springer, for being the exception), I felt busy while reading, too.

I’m tired. I’ve got a headache. My left eye twitches. I’m complaining about how busy I am. Most of the things I have to do are because work demands it from me, of because I feel bad saying no to friends. But it feels weird when I have to read books that I wouldn’t ordinarily read, because reading is the one thing that keeps me calm and (relatively) sane. And now I feel stressed about having to read, too.

I know it sounds like a First World Problem, and it is. Boo-hoo, poor Elke, having to read books – and having to prepare lectures, which has been her dream for years. I shouldn’t complain, and you should definitely not feel sorry for me.

But now you know why I haven’t written much lately.

Have you ever felt like even the things that you love feel like a chore? When was that? What is your advice when people feel like that? Which book lifts you up from your daily life? Please let me know in the comments! Also, don’t forget to follow me for more book-related posts! I promise I’ll be less busy soon!