Do You Log Your Reading?

Writers should read. I’m rather organized about it, maybe bordering on anal. This week marks twenty years since I started keeping a log of my reading.

My spreadsheet started in January 2003. Since then, I’ve read 637 books. Fiction comprised 67% of these. Over those two decades, I’ve averaged 12.6 days per book.

In my spreadsheet, I note the date I finished, the title, author, and whether it’s fiction or nonfiction. For text-type books (print or ebook) I enter the number of pages and compute pages read per day. For audiobooks, I note the number of hours and compute the hours listened per day.

For print and ebooks, I’ve read an average of 16.7 pages per day and averaged 31.6 days to finish a book. The average audiobook took me only 6.9 days to complete, listening for an average 1.5 hours a day.

In an average year, I read 31.9 books, but that varied a lot. One year I only read 8, and another year I read 58.

I’ve consumed books in various formats—178 print books, 21 ebooks, 301 audiobooks on CD, 85 audiobooks on cassette (not many of those lately), and 52 downloaded audiobooks. Therefore, I’ve listened to 69% of the books and read the text of the remaining 31%.

If it sounds like I’m bragging, believe me, I’m not. I’m disappointed I didn’t read much more. This is an admission of failure, not a proud boast.

What sort of books do I read? I don’t note the genres in my spreadsheet, but much of the fiction is scifi. In nonfiction, I’m eclectic—all over the map.

In addition to the log, for the past 9 of those 20 years, I’ve posted reviews on Goodreads and Amazon of the books I read. That totals about 244 reviews. I’m not always kind in my reviews, but I try to be fair, noting strengths and weaknesses of each book. If I support other writers by reviewing their work, perhaps some will return the favor. Any review, whether good or bad, can help sales.

I’ve noticed my reading habits changing over the years. I used to read during my commute to and from work, either reading on the subway or listening to audiobooks in the car. I also read on the plane when traveling for work. Since my retirement, I’ve begun reading before breakfast, and still listen to audiobooks when traveling by car and I read on the plane when I fly.

Do you keep a record of the books you read? If not, should you start? Up to you, of course, but let me caution you first. Human nature is such that you get more of what you measure and less of what you don’t. If you start logging your reading, you will read more, but only at the expense of something else you’ll be doing less.

How does my reading data stack up against the average person? According to Gallup, the average American reads 12.6 books per year, the lowest average in 30 years, down from a high of 18.5 in 1999. The Penn Book Center found CEOs read a great deal, with Bill Gates reading about 50 books a year—a good goal.

There’s an app called Basmo that will log your reading for you. I’ve never tried it, but it looks easy to use, and it does all the spreadsheet calculating stuff. Using that app might inspire you to read more.

Without much effort, and with the aid of a log or logging app, you should be able to read much more than—

Poseidon’s Scribe

January 29, 2023Permalink

Learning to Write Stories—Analysis or Practice?

What’s the best way to learn how to write stories? Should you just start writing a lot and work to improve? Or should you study the works of the best writers and understand their techniques before setting fingers to keyboard yourself? Or a combination of the two?

Image from Picjumbo

A writer friend enrolled in a literary master’s degree program and took a short story workshop class. The instructor told the students to dissect a literary work and analyze it. My friend discovered the entire workshop would consist of these analyses, and suggested to the instructor that students wouldn’t actually learn to write stories that way.

Picking a good metaphor, my friend said you can’t learn to build a house by taking apart other houses and studying them. You have to learn by doing.

The instructor disagreed, leaving my friend dissatisfied with that conclusion to the argument.

Let’s call the instructor’s way the ‘analytical approach’ and my friend’s way the ‘practice approach.’ (Note: I don’t mean to imply my friend only wrote and never read—this student objected to the 100% analytical approach imposed by the instructor.)

Who’s right? Both approaches seen to hold some merit, unless taken to extremes. A person who just analyzes famous writer’s works may develop expertise in analysis but never write a story of value. A writer who never reads seems equally unlikely to produce enjoyable prose.

I envision an experiment performed in two classrooms of second or third graders. One class simply writes stories without prompts. The other spends a year studying high quality children’s literature and discussing those books, and then the students write a story at the end. Which classroom’s students would end up crafting the best stories?

Imagine a line, a spectrum, with the pure ‘analytical approach’ at one end and the pure ‘practice approach’ at the other. My guess is, few of the great authors cluster at either end. They learned to write classic stories by some combination of approaches—by analysis and by practice. Perhaps an optimum exists on that curve, and I suspect it’s past the midpoint, toward the ‘practice approach’ end.

We might gain further insight on this by considering the artificial intelligence program ChatGPT. You may ask this chatbot to write a short story, and even prompt it with a subject, setting, mood, and style. The program will produce a short story for you in minutes.

How does ChapGPT do that? From what I’ve read, ChatGPT’s developers gave the chatbot many, many such prompts, graded the results, and provided feedback to the program regarding the grades. This seems analogous to the practice approach.

To produce a short story for you, ChatGPT scours the internet for information about the words in your prompt (for example, the subject, setting, mood, style, or other parameters you provided). That research seems analogous to the analytical approach.

Thus it appears ChatGPT learned to write short stories by some combination of approaches, someplace between the ends of the spectrum.

Note: ChatGPT does much more than write short stories. I don’t mean to sell it short. It also writes poems, essays, the answers to questions, and accomplishes many other tasks involving text.

In the end, my friend learned little about how to write a short story from the course. The analysis of classic short stories seemed, to my friend, better suited to undergraduate or even high school level, rather than a master’s degree course.

When learning to build a house, examining other houses helps, but so does building one yourself, and that’s similar to learning to write.

An appropriate mix of the analytical and practice approaches seems the best choice, at least for—

Poseidon’s Scribe

January 22, 2023Permalink

On Your Mark—Racing in Fiction

Few events excite us as much as a race, a competition of speed. Sports fans love racing. Readers love to read about races, and writers rush to fill that need.

Image from Pixabay

For this post, I use the term ‘race’ to mean a contest of speed, not a means of differentiating people based on physical characteristics.

In fiction, a race allows a writer to introduce thrills and tension, to reveal a character’s traits, and to heighten conflict. Races often pit the protagonist against either an antagonist or against the steady ticking of a clock, which becomes a sort of inanimate antagonist.

Often, fictional racers compete for high stakes—a prize of some sort, or defeat of an internal demon, or even the character’s life.

A quick search revealed many books featuring a race, a tiny sampling. I’ll list the ones I found by category.

  • Footrace (Flanagan’s Run by Tom McNab, The Running Man by Richard Bachman/Stephen King)
  • Boat (Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne)
  • Auto (Thunder Road by William Campbell Gault, Return to Daytona by W.E. Butterworth, The Twelve-Cylinder Screamer by James McM. Douglas, Hover Car Racer by Matthew Reilly)
  • Bicycle (Bad to the Bone by James Waddington, The Rider by Tim Krabbé)
  • Horse Racing (Iliad by Homer [chariot racing], Seabiscuit by Laura Hillenbrand, Thinking Racehorse by Jimmy Tudeski
  • Swimming (Swimming by Nicola Keegan, The Sea of Light by Jenifer Levin, Barracuda by Christos Tsiolkas)

Techniques used in fictional race stories may include:

  • competitors sizing each other up before the start;
  • a large crowd, including characters of importance to the protagonist;
  • lead changes during the race;
  • emotional swings as the protagonist experiences sadness or dread at the thought of losing, and exhilaration and joy about the likelihood of winning;
  • a breakdown or falter by the protagonist, perhaps caused by the antagonist;
  • a redoubling of effort by the protagonist near the end, digging deep, going beyond previously assumed capabilities;
  • a close, disputed finish;
  • an overturning of the race results based on a rule violation or some other plot contrivance; and
  • the protagonist winning or losing the race, and learning something valuable.

Races form a central part of the plot in two of my stories.

In “The Wind-Sphere Ship,” two triremes race each other, one powered by rowers and the other by steam. An alternate history (or more accurately, a ‘secret history’) tale, it imagines the Roman inventor Heron converting his steam-powered ‘wind-sphere’ toy into a means of propelling a ship.

My story 80 Hours pits a protagonist against the clock. She accepts a TV game show challenge to travel around the world in eighty hours for a prize of $3 Million.

If you’re a writer stuck for an idea, consider a story about a race of some sort. Feel your adrenaline flowing. Step up to the line. On your mark. Get set. Go! See if you can outrace—

Poseidon’s Scribe

January 15, 2023Permalink