Offline Reading Journal

Weeks 1 & 2

*Warning: If you’re currently reading offline this month, stop right here. You shouldn’t be reading this. Bookmark this page, or save it in a folder. Come back in April :)

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Week 1

Day 1:

This is the day I decide to stop reading online for a month, after reading a 10k-word article on my phone. It’s 37 pages long when double-spaced. I copied and pasted it into Word to verify. That’s the equivalent of roughly 10% of your average novel.

Day 2:

I pick up a new book to read. The author crafted the chapters like flash fiction, never over two or three pages. I’ve set the bar low to start. After a page and a half, my brain wanders. It wants to change screens, jump back and forth, scroll down, and swipe left. This is going to be harder than I thought.

Day 3:

I group all my “reading” apps together on my phone. I contemplate deleting them, but I know it will annoy me to download them again later. So I move them to the last page of my phone screen. I have to swipe twice to reach them.

Later during the day, I swipe a few times to stare at those apps for a minute or two, then turn off my screen. This seems to bring minor relief. For now.

Day 4:

We take a 40-minute train ride to attend a literary festival in the next town over. I’m excited, there are over 50 authors invited worldwide. I bring my book to read on the train and finish it that evening. The event is top-notch. It’s located five minutes away from the train station in a converted cookie factory; the entry is free, and the day is filled with a stream of riveting author discussions. I note things down as my brain brims with ideas.

At the last panel I attend, the moderator is obviously an expert monologuist who specializes in asking long-form questions presented as statements. I came to hear the authors speak, not a narcissist name-drop French literary classics: Rabelais, Montaigne, Voltaire, Baudelaire, Proust. In France, anyone over the age of fifteen can recite the list. It’s part of the national curriculum. The moderator rambles on. Even the participants have a glazed look in their eyes. Who is this guy?! I’m dying to know.

Later that night, I get my husband to google him. He reads his bio out loud and finds a video of the moderator—who is in fact a cultural journalist—presenting a monologue at another literary festival. The author seated beside him tries to muffle his laughter at the absurdities he spits out.

Day 5:

I don’t consider myself a screen addict, but I guess few people do. Yet since I’ve started this challenge, I appear to have an incessant need to “fill up” every bit of idle time I have. Right now, it seems easier to put on a podcast than pick up a book. It’s Sunday, aka chore day. So I’ll let it pass.

Day 6:

We’re moving into our first home soon. There are lots of things to organize and furniture to hunt since we left many things behind when we moved to the other side of the ocean. I’m not reading, I’m browsing items online. Still, it’s endless scrolling and reducing my offline reading time. I need to get this under control.

Day 7:

I really didn’t want to get out of bed this morning so I listen to a motivational podcast for five minutes. The host says he reads roughly 2.5 books per week, although he’d like to read more (gag, gag, gag). I must remind myself that this is not a competition. I’m not trying to be more productive (I hate that word). I’m…conducting an experiment.

I finally get up. Not because I feel motivated now, but because the idea of staying in bed listening to a self-righteous professional productivity hacker feels worse.

A vague phrase floats in the back of my mind: Do it, anyway.

I really don’t want to.

Like my-body-feels-weighted-down-by-a-thousand-rocks-and-it’s-impossible-to-move my-body-so-I’d-rather-stay-in-bed-and-eat-nothing-forever-and-die-even-though-my stomach-is-already-growling-REALLY DON’T WANT TO.

Then I think about that podcast host who wants to read more than 2.5 books A WEEK (gag, gag, gag) and get up.

Now, I think motivational speakers don’t inspire you. They compel you out of sheer guilt and annoyance.

When I open my email, I create a folder in my inbox named “Read in April”. Anything that looks tempting goes directly into that folder. So far I have nine emails in there. There is one that is particularly luring: “David Hockney is brighter and bolder.”

I love that old grandpa and his iPad art. I really want to see how much brighter and bolder he has become. Wait, I might be confusing him with someone else. Probably, I’m not sure anymore. But there is no way of knowing without reading the newsletter. In the folder, you go.

Photo by Jonas Jacobsson on Unsplash.

Week 2

Day 8:

I haven’t been fully honest with you. I’m also doing a second challenge this month. It’s with a group of writers. We all do it during the same time period, but individually, whenever and however we want. This is one of my favourite types of activities: the together-but-alone activities. I enjoy doing things on my own, while also knowing someone, somewhere else, is doing exactly the same thing at the same time.

Each day, I have to write a minimum amount of sentences. The date represents the amount prescribed for that day. For example, on March 8th, you must write at least eight sentences, etc.

I begin to question my life choices. Why am I doing this to myself?

1. Maybe I’m bored with my life and need to get out of my comfort zone. (Nope and definitely no.)

2. Maybe I’m sadistic and love challenges. (Not really.)

3. Maybe I created the second challenge to meet the first one. (Possibly, but not intentionally).

I must resist the urge to google “what is wrong with me”.

Day 9:

I finish a second book, a collection of short stories that were interesting and well-written, although certain aspects of the stories bothered me. The author looks young and smug—ok, more like bashfully proud—in the photo on the back cover. Yes, this is called jealousy. My curiosity grows; the urge to look up the book grows stronger. I want to know if others share the same opinions as me (about the book, not the author’s photo).

This is how I usually treat cultural reviews, as opposed to any other type of review. If you want to watch a movie, see a play, or read a book? Read the reviews afterwards. Don't deny yourself the pleasure of viewing a work of art because some curmudgeon disliked it.

If you want to eat at a restaurant or stay at a hotel? Read the reviews first. It’s sensible to avoid food poisoning or sleeping in bedbug-infested lodgings.

Day 10:

At noon, I tune into the French public radio to avoid scrolling on my phone while having lunch. Somehow, it’s harder to read a book while eating. At least the ones that won’t lie flat on their backs. I have to hold the book open with one hand and feed myself with the other while being careful not to dirty myself.

The radio host is interviewing an author. Someone I don’t know, but who sounds very smart. My preferred type of smart: wholesome, genuine, and down-to-earth. She’s also a poet who records her poems to music. (I swear it’s not as ostentatious as it sounds.) The journalist asks her to describe the protagonist of her latest novel.

“She doesn’t want to be a noun,” the author replies. “She’d rather be a verb.”

Or something like that. I would need to see the transcripts to provide the exact quote. But as you know, I’m not allowed to read online right now. It sounded beautiful when I heard it. Now it just seems pretentious.

Day 11:

You’d think I’d be a better listener with this sudden uptake of podcast and radio listening. But I often have to rewind (do people still use that word?) and re-listen to passages because I space out or get distracted by whatever task I’m doing simultaneously. It seems easier to find a quote or reread a passage by scanning a page than fiddling with an audio player. That’s why I usually prefer text. I’m grateful that I can see. (And read.)

Day 12 and 13:

I’ve been waking up with a headache these past weeks. But now it seems to have evolved into a migraine. I’m not sure if I’m experiencing withdrawal symptoms. Or maybe it’s the sudden change of weather.

Day 14:

My husband asks if I’ve seen the news on Silicon Valley Bank. What’s that?, I ask. I haven’t read the news in weeks. He says they’ve caused global panic in the banking system. (Goddamn Silicon Valley. You keep forgetting your forefather’s motto: Don’t do evil.) I’m glad I am not reading online right now. No need to be preoccupied with more doomsday news. Then again…

While you’re at it, I say to him. Do you have any other updates on the news? No, he says, I haven’t been following.

I eye him carefully. I’m pretty sure he’s lying, but it’s kind of him to spare me from FOMO. Sigh, now that’s love.

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How is your offline reading experience going? What seems to work for you? Have you cheated as much as I have? Did you notice anything different? Let us know.

Happy writing, happy creating (and offline reading)!

G.G. Law

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