‘You must read a lot of books?!’ people say when we meet.
Well, I don’t know. How long is a piece of string? Who am I comparing myself to? You? Them? My own wishes? My past reading habits?
I don’t always count the number of books I read in a year, but I have just done so. 146. Is that a lot? Or perhaps a disappointingly low figure? 37 were picture books, so around a quarter. Eleven non-fiction books and ten adult books; mainly crime.
Quite clearly I am not someone who has a review up every day. Not even every other day. My gut instinct has always told me that I might average three book reviews a week, and that seems to hold. Meaning that four days a week I have to make something up.
Maybe not really. There are events. Perhaps I should count those? (I just did. 44 of my own, plus a few by others.)
Interviews (4) and the odd guest blog. Eight profiles, and – sadly – five author death announcements.
Actually, 2015 will be more than 146. I still have a few books coming. In contrast, Christmas means much more making stuff up and writing very little, hoping that no one will notice. After all, you are face down in mince pies and turkey stuffing, aren’t you?
That last sentence presumably counts as either one of my opinionated posts, or as one of my ‘musings,’ rather like what I’m doing now.
There are awards, shortlists and longlists, cover images, other photos, travelling. Stuff.
Do I read a lot?