Why We Read: An Ode to Content

My parents were my first audiobook.

I’d wildly run up to them with my children’s book of choice, incoherently babbling to get their attention. Apparently, that’s what I thought they sounded like.
 
From those moments on, I was linked to the written word. There was nothing I wouldn’t read. I plowed through comics, the Goosebumps series, The Boxcar Children series, and, ahem, the occasional The Babysitter’s Club book, while downing my cereal in the morning before school.

Elementary school book fairs were my nirvana. I think I might have done so well in school just so my parents would have no excuse for not buying me a paycheck’s worth of chapter books. I’d take TWO of these books when I ran errands around town with my mom—just in case I either finished one or got bored with the other.

In high school, I had an incredible AP English teacher who plucked me out of obscurity. I had tried to coast my way through my senior year by signing up for the lesser English track. That planned failed miserably after I was the only one to raise my hand the first day of class after she asked, “Who actually enjoys reading?” She threw me into the AP class and fed me a diet of Hemingway and Ibsen, as well as a slew of novels from her own collection, such as Crazy in Alabama and As I Lay Dying.

Once I caught the history bug in college, I began devouring the best history tomes I could find (many of them stolen from my older brother’s bookcase). My book bag got heavier and heavier as the latest fiction bestseller or weighty historical narrative supplemented my school textbooks.

I also had an eccentric journalism teacher who recommended I read thought-provoking fiction and non-fiction, such as Blindness, The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, and anything by Hunter S. Thompson and Norman Mailer. I read them all just so I could say, “I’m on the bus.” There seemed to be no limit to the amount of words I could shove into my brain.

And then the Kindle happened.

I was resistant at first, unwilling to give up my hardcover and paperback friends for yet another screen. However, I jumped right on the bandwagon when I received one as a birthday gift. I think I downloaded three books before I had even turned the thing on (for those of you interested they were Laura Hillenbrand’s Unbroken, Edmund Morris’ Colonel Roosevelt, and The Writings of Abraham Lincoln). Turns out better technology made me a better reader, not a lazier one.

The reason I’m telling you all this isn’t to brag (but come on, that’s an impressive amount of words for one lifetime and I’m only 27!). I wanted to establish my reading bona fides as a voracious reader so when you read the next section you’ll believe I know what the hell I’m talking about.

So, why do we read?

We read for information. We read to be entertained. We read to figure out ways to cope with the world around us. We read to get lost in an epic adventure that has no anchor in reality, just so we can have a discussion with someone about how ludicrous and awesome it was. We read so that the words and the language we’ve spent millions of years crafting don’t get wasted on fast food ads and car commercials. We read so we can write intelligently as well as sophomorically. We read because, for many of us, that’s just what we do.

So whether it’s an electronic book, magazine article, or blog, we deserve to have good content in this world—content that isn’t just worth reading, but worth discussing and rebutting. Content should make us kneel down and thank the heavens we took time out of our day to read what someone else had to say. Good content, sheesh, even bad content, should blow the doors off our intellect and make us want to read even more.

So when you’re crafting your content, strive to be great. Even if it ends up tanking. We readers will see the effort you put in and appreciate your less-than-stellar writing all the same. If you get lazy, well, we’ve got another million-and-a-half options.

I’ve got a 700-page book on the American Revolution, a fully charged Kindle, and a laptop with a Wi-Fi connection in my backpack to prove it.

[Image: indi.ca]