I Broke My Promise

Posted: August 30, 2015 in Books, the best invention ever, Writing Wednesday

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So I vowed to read books by minority authors for six months as I shared in a previous post. I had a blast reading stories by people who looked like me, talked like me, and sometimes conveyed the crazy, funny, deep, heavy, scary thoughts I was carrying around.

Once I got to the momentous six month mark, I got cocky and decided to read books by minorities only, for a entire year. An entire year! Twelve whole months! I knew I could do it. Until I couldn’t.

Thing is, I have more reading time than there are books that I could find to keep my attention depending on my mood. That’s not to say that minority authors are boring or bad writers. For me, if I’m not reading at least two or three books at one time, I feel like I’m wasting time. Because it feels as if those in the immediate lineup are friends telling me stories and depending on my mood or what’s going on in life, I need those friends to give it to me straight. Or queer. ‘Cause that’s what I want at times. My trusted friends in those pages understand my life, my thoughts, my cravings, my desires. They don’t judge me or call me out for being an asshole that I may be at that moment.

For example, I re-read Pema Chodron’s When Things Fall Apart often, especially when life feels heavy and daunting. I also re-read several poetry books when I need to feel less lonely and want to remember how important the seemingly little things in life are.

Therefore, I’ll celebrate the accomplishment of reading books by only minority authors for EIGHT full months and now read whatever I find interesting. I also amend my goal to give at least one book by a minority author, a try, once a month going forward.

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