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How I keep my reading journal

I am amazed at how many books I’ve read so far this year. Looking just at my resolution to read all of the Hugo and Nebula winning novels, I started with only 32 out of 110 read, and now I’m nearly at 100. Granted, for a lot of those I only read the first and last chapter, but I also read several dozen of them cover to cover—and I’ve also read a bunch of other books, too.

What was the thing that pushed me over the tipping point? I used to only read two or three books a month, if that. Then my wife and I started taking our reading time more seriously, taking our family to the library once a week and setting aside an hour each night to read before going to bed. She helped me to make a reading log to keep track of everything, and that certainly helped a lot. It also helped to have specific reading goals, like read all of the Hugo and Nebula winning books this year.

But the thing that really kicked my reading into high gear was to start keeping a reading journal. I used to have one back in high school, but all I really used it for was to save quotes, and I lost it sometime before I got married. But I remembered how that helped me to read more back in high school, so a couple of months ago I decided to start a new one.

The reading journal I keep now is handwritten in a composition notebook. I just prefer the feel of pen on paper, especially for something private like this. And it is a private journal, unlike the daily diary that I hope to share with my kids and grandkids someday. Maybe I’ll share it with close family, but for now, I’m keeping it only for myself.

If I weren’t an author, I might cross-post things from my reading journal to Goodreads and other social media sites, but since this is what I do for a living, I think it’s better to keep my reviews to myself. After all, I don’t want to give a book a bad review, only to find that several of my fans consider it their favorite book. I also want to avoid attracting the ire of any online outrage mobs, which is why I don’t post much of anything to Goodreads anymore. That’s also why I decided not to do BookTube. But if writing books wasn’t the main way I make my living, I might share some of this stuff (some of it) with my friends on social media.

So here’s what I include in my reading journal:

Monthly read/DNF lists

At the start of each month, I start a new page with two lists on it: one for all of the books that I read, and another for the ones that I DNF. Throughout the month, I add books to each list as I read/DNF them. This gives me a great way to look back at the end of the month and see, at a glance, how much progress I made.

For the books I’ve read, I also make a note in the margin if I think the book was good enough to acquire a physical copy. My long-term goal is to build a personal library of all the best books that I’ve read, so this is a way to advance that project.

Also, in the list of books I’ve DNFed, I make a note in the margins if it was a soft DNF and I may consider coming back to it at some point. I believe in DNFing early and often, but I also think that it’s good to occasionally revisit those DNFs and try them again.

Quotes that stood out

If a passage of something I’m reading stands out to me as particularly quoteworthy or memorable, I put a little post-it note on the page so that I can find it later, after I’m done reading for the day (or night). Then, I write it down in my reading journal, with the author, book title, and page number.

I’m not all that particular about collecting quotes, but if I’m really loving a book, pulling out a couple of memorable passages can enrich the reading experience and help me to remember what I’ve read. It’s also fun to share those quotes on my blog and social media, with friends who might not have read the book yet.

Books that I’ve loaned

One of the main reasons that I want to build a personal library of physical books is so that I can share them with my friends. Of course, it’s easy to lose track of which books I’ve loaned out already, and friends are prone to lose them if you don’t remind them about it from time to time.

So whenever I loan out a book, I make a note in my reading journal of that, including the name of the person I loaned it out to. And when they return it, I make a note of that too.

Ratings and reviews

I don’t really write “reviews” in my reading journal, because it’s a private journal that isn’t meant for public consumption. But I do include a few notes, generally no more than a page, for every book that I read or DNF. This usually includes my thoughts and impressions of the book, what made me DNF it if that was the case, and anything I liked or didn’t like about it.

In addition to those notes, I also give it a 1-5 star rating in the margin, using the following scale:

  • 1 Star: I thought this book was terrible.
  • 2 Star: I didn’t like this book, but it wasn’t terrible.
  • 3 Star: I thought this book was okay, but not great.
  • 4 Star: I thought this book was really good.
  • 5 Star: This is one of the best books that I’ve ever read.

Of course, it’s all very subjective, but that’s kind of the point. When I want to come back later and see what I thought of a particular book, I can see the star rating and read about what my thoughts and impressions were at the time, which give me a pretty good snapshot. If I decide to reread a book, I do the same thing for the second-read through so that I can judge the two experiences.

Anthologies and collections

If I decide to read a collection or anthology (or magazine issue, for that matter), I first list the title of every story in the book, with room on one side to mark the date that I read it, and on the other side (usually the margin) for what my 1-5 star rating was for that particular story, or whether I skipped or DNFed it.

I don’t bother writing out my thoughts and impressions for every story, but when I’m done with the collection/anthology, I do write down a few notes on it just like any other book.

Other things that I plan to include

At this point, my journal is pretty low-key, and it only takes a few minutes to update it whenever I do. However, as I get more into it, I will probably include things like proper journal entries, my thoughts on reading in general, things that I want to see in the genres that I read, and other ruminations like that. The format is really flexible, which is nice, because I’m sure I’ll be adapting it to all sorts of new things in the future.

Taken together, keeping a reading journal like this has really helped me to track my progress, not just in terms of numbers, but in terms of thoughts, impressions, and experiences. And I think that’s the key right there. Instead of each book being its own separate experience, I feel like it’s all a part of a much bigger whole, where each new book is part of a journey. What is the destination of that journey? I’m not entirely sure, but I think it’s helping me to be a better reader, writer, and person overall.

Reading Resolution Update: May

My 2022 reading resolution: Read or DNF every novel that has won a Hugo or a Nebula award, and acquire all the good ones.

When I first got the idea for this new year’s resolution six months ago, I was reading maybe 30-60 pages every other day, with no real goal or direction. My wife and I had already decided to change our routine so we could read in bed for an hour before going to sleep, but we weren’t very good at keeping to that routine.

I set this goal because I knew that I needed to read more books—specifically, books in my genre. So I decided: why not set my sights high and aim for the best of the best? Not that I still believe that the Hugos and Nebulas represent the best of SF&F, but at one point I did genuinely believe that, or acted as if I did, which amounts to the same thing. So why not aim to read them all?

I thought it would take a lot longer to get this far, but here it is, June already, and I’ve almost read them all. When I started, I’d read only 36 out of 110 books. I did find a few new-to-me books that were really fantastic, but most of them were books I didn’t like. However, in a weird sort of way that actually helped me to read more, because it helped me to better understand my own tastes. So when I hit a small reading slump in March-April, I was able to branch out and read some books that I did enjoy, which helped to keep the momentum strong.

Several things have helped me to read a lot more over the course of this challenge:

First, having a reading list really helped. It provided me with a long-term, measurable goal that I could use to keep track of my progress. For me, that was highly motivational.

Second, DNFing early and often, and skipping to the last chapter before marking it as DNF. Often, I would find confirmation in the last chapter that I had indeed made the right choice not to read the rest of it. This taught me to trust my own judgment and to better understand my own tastes, which reaped dividends later.

Third, learning how to read in a way that worked with my own ADHD, not against it. This helped me to turn a great weakness, which had foiled my previous resolutions to read more books, into an advantage. But it required developing a better accountability system, which brings us to…

Fourth, using a reading log to track my progress. I got this idea from my wife, who is very good with spreadsheets. I know it doesn’t work for everyone to track everything down to how many pages per day you need to read of each book you’re currently reading, but for me, it really worked. Finally…

Fifth, starting a reading journal to track my own progress and record my own thoughts and impressions about what I’m reading. This is a topic that deserves its own blog post, but I’ve been doing it for a couple of months now, and I find that it really helps me to get a lot more out of what I read, as well as motivating me to read more. Among other things, I keep track of which books I read and DNF each month, my impressions of each book after reading or DNFing it, and any quotes from what I’m reading that stand out as being particularly memorable.

At the rate that I’m going, I will probably achieve this resolution (or at least the reading part of it) before the end of June. It might take a little more time to finish the Uplift Trilogy if I don’t DNF it, but I’ll certainly have finished before the end of the year. Consequently, I’m already drawing up other reading lists for awards like the Dragons and Goodread’s Choice, but I’m still trying to figure out exactly how I want to proceed. Most likely, I will expand those lists to include nominees, but also pick and choose which ones to read.

In any case, here are all of the Hugo and Nebula award-winning books I read or DNFed in May:

Books that I read and plan to or have already aquired

  • The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon (2004 Nebula)
  • Powers by Ursula K. Le Guin (2009 Nebula)
  • All Clear by Connie Willis (2011 Hugo and Nebula)
  • Blackout by Connie Willis (2011 Hugo and Nebula) (Technically I read this one in April and listed it under “Books that I read and don’t plan to acquire,” but after giving the sequel a chance I’ve decided to move it up here. Really, they should all be one book.)

Books that I read and don’t plan to acquire

  • The Terminal Experiment by Robert J. Sawyer (1996 Nebula)

Books that I did not finish

  • Timescape by Gregory Benford (1981 Nebula)
  • No Enemy but Time by Michael Bishop (1983 Nebula)
  • The Falling Woman by Pat Murphy (1988 Nebula)
  • Slow River by Nicola Griffith (1997 Nebula)
  • The Quantum Rose by Catherine Asaro (2002 Nebula)
  • Hominids by Robert J. Sawyer (2003 Hugo)
  • Paladin of Souls by Lois McMaster Bujold (2004 Hugo and 2005 Nebula)
  • Seeker by Jack McDevitt (2007 Nebula)
  • The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman (2009 Hugo)
  • Among Others by Jo Walton (2012 Hugo and Nebula)
  • Uprooted by Naomi Novik (2016 Nebula)

Total books remaining: 11 out of 111 (currently reading 5 and listening to 1).

Spring Shorts Story #3: Christopher Columbus, Wildcatter

Wow, has it really been almost three weeks since I finished another short story? I really need to get back into the game. Still, this was a fun one, and I’m really looking forward to turning it into something great.

As with the two previous stories, I used the Mythulu cards to come up with this one. Here’s what I drew:

  • STATISTIC: The face, pile, voice, or sacrifice that gives personal meaning to a problem previously encountered and ignored.
  • EXPLORER: Enchanted by novelty. Energized by challenge. Brave, joyful, and resilient. Worst thing that can happen is for life to become too predictable.
  • GHOST LIMB: When amputees receive nerve signals from non-existant limbs.
  • MINE: Gleaning useful or shiny resources from the earth. Runoff from mines causes ecologically devastating pollution.
  • DEBTOR: One who has received something they cannot yet repay. Leads to either accountability or slvaery. Not free to pursue their own heart until absolved.
  • WATER: Currency of life. Symbolizes connection. Breaks boundaries. Patient, responsive, nurturing.
  • VIBRATING: A gentle resonant sumble. Usually felt when some kind of energy is flowing freely, whether sound, electricity, or emotion.
  • RECOVERING: Half-healed from some kind of significant damage.
  • FUZZY: A soft, comforting layer associated with innocent living things.
  • ADORABLE: Too cute to be taken seriously. Cannot intimidate others, no matter how hard they try. Their boundaries are frequently ignored.
  • LOUD: Showy in a way that interrupts others. Uncomfortably irreverent, noisy, or insistent.
  • HUNGRY: Ravenous and/or so desperately poor that they cannot afford food.
  • TEMPLE: Home of the gods. Point of access where higher powers can be found and petitioned.
  • MONK: Offers total forgiveness. Able to see through deception, especially self-deception. Invites, but never forces.
  • THRESHOLD: A Doorway that leads to a new life. Once you cross a threshold, you cannot return the same.
  • WIND: Represents connection to the unknown. Responsible for storms, pollinations, erosion. Influences evolution, spread of disease, and pollution dispersal.

For most of these elements, I ignored the flavor text altogether. With “statistic,” for example, all I did was start the story off with a random statistic I heard somewhere. No idea if it’s actually true, but hey, it makes for a great story. And with “threshold,” I traded out the card I’d actually drawn with one that worked much better. Also, I’m not entirely sure how “wind” fits in with the rest of it, but it feels right.

I’m going to keep going through with these Mythulu-inspired stories until I’ve used all of the cards. That definitely won’t happen until after Memorial Day, which I’ve marked as the end of this Spring Shorts challenge, but I’ll keep track of which cards I’ve already used and continue to write short stories on the side. With luck, I’ll be able to write at least one more story here, and I may keep it up for a while in the summer just until I’ve filled up the buffer in my publishing schedule. But more about that in a later post.

“The god Luck is deaf in one ear…”

The god Luck is deaf in one ear, they say, the ear we pray to; he can’t hear our prayers. What he hears, what he listens to, nobody knows. Denios the poet said he hears the wheels of the stars’ great chariots turning on the roads of heaven.

Ursula K. Le Guin, Powers

Do all books deserve to be read?

From TV Tropes:

Half an hour after the show is over, a random viewer is staring into their refrigerator, vaguely bemused by the fact that their six-pack of beer has somehow become a two-pack of beer. Rather than work out how this might have happened, it occurs to them to wonder how in the hell Sydney Bristow went from Hungary to Melbourne, Australia, then to LA, all within 24 hours. Or maybe it occurs to them that they’ve never met anyone who actually named their dog Fido. It didn’t bother them during the show. It wasn’t until they discovered they were running short of beer that it became an issue.

When China Mike Glyer picked up my post a couple of days ago, I was skimming over the comments and saw one that said, in effect, “every book deserves to be read.” At the time, I thought “well, that’s obviously stupid” and moved on, but last evening I had a moment of fridge logic, almost exactly like TV Tropes describes (minus the beer, since I don’t drink).

Every book deserves to be read? Really? Prove it by reading the Bible cover to cover. And the Book of Mormon. And the Doctrine and Covenants / Pearl of Great Price. And the Complete Journal of Discourses. And every General Conference report going back for the last two centuries. Heck, even as a believing Latter-day Saint, I don’t think there’s anyone alive who’s read all of that.

Or how about Mein Kampf? Does that deserve to be read?

(I happen to believe that it does, but in a “he who knows himself and the enemy does not need to fear the outcome of a hundred battles” sort of way. And no, I haven’t read it yet.)

Seriously, though, how insane do you have to be to actually believe something like that? “All books deserve to be read.” That’s not the sort of thing that a person comes up with unless they’ve been programmed to think a certain way. Like, “all women deserve to be believed” (except for Tara Reade, of course).

Now, I don’t believe that there’s a nefarious conspiracy to deliberately program people like this commenter to read crappy books. But there is a lot of propaganda out there that follows the formula “all _____ deserve to be ______.” Case in point, believe all women. What probably happened was this commenter, who has already been programmed by this sort of propaganda, tried to reformulate it in a way that would make me look bad. As in, “Vasicek is such a heartless monster to DNF so many books. All books deserve to be read.”

Here’s the thing, though: books are inanimate objects. They don’t have feelings. They don’t care if you read them or not. But readers do care if a book wastes their time. Time is a scarce resource for all of us, and there are more books in the world than can be read in a thousand lifetimes. So if you want to have any chance of finding and reading the best books, you need to be discerning—and that means acknowledging that some books just aren’t worth your time.

This is why I’m such a firm believer in DNFing books early and often. There’s nothing I hate about reading more than slogging through a book that isn’t working for me, only to find that I should have DNFed it a hundred pages ago. That’s why I was so frustrated with Stranger in a Strange Land. I love many of Heinlein’s other books, especially his juveniles, but some of them really misfire for me. So now, I assume that the author needs to prove themselves with every book.

But Joe, doesn’t it bother you as an author that people are DNFing your books? Not at all! Reading is an act of collaboration between the reader and the writer, which means that everyone’s “best books” list is going to be subjective. Some of the elements that make a book good can be measured objectively, but those elements are going to hit differently for different people—and that’s okay. Besides, even Jesus gets one-star, “did not finish” reviews. Who am I to think that I’m better than Him?

I used to worry that I was DNFing books to easily. But over the course of this last year, I’ve come to trust my own tastes. One of the things that I do test this is to skip to the last chapter of every book that I DNF, and read that. In 9/10 cases, I find that yes, there really is something objectionable about the book, and I made the right choice. And in the 1/10 books where that isn’t the case, something about it usually sticks with me, so that I end up coming back and reading it later. One of those books for me now is Deadhouse Gates, which I am thoroughly enjoying.

But you can’t learn to trust your own tastes if you adopt this insane idea that “every book deserves to be read.” In fact, if I still believed that I needed to finish every book that I started, I probably wouldn’t be much of a reader right now, just like most Americans.

So no, not every book deserves to be read. And at the end of the day, it isn’t about the books at all: it’s about the readers.

An interesting personal discovery

I just made a very interesting personal discovery, gleaned from the data on my reading of the Hugo and Nebula winning books. Of the 110 novels that have won either award, I have now read all but 16 of them, which is enough data to get some reprentative results.

One of the best predictors that I will DNF a book is whether the author is a childless woman. Of the 18 books written by childless women, I have DNFed all but three of them (Downbelow Station by C.J. Cherryh, which I read years ago and would probably DNF today, and Network Effect by Martha Wells, which is a genuinely entertaining read, and Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norell by Susanna Clarke, which I haven’t read yet). For childless men, it’s a little bit more of a crapshoot: of the 31 books written by childless men, I’ve DNFed 16 of them and read 11, but only 6 of those are books I thought were worth owning.

Conversely, one of the best predictors that I will enjoy a book is whether the author is a mother. Of the 20 books written by mothers, I have DNFed only 6 of them and read 8, all of which I think are worth owning. Of the six remaining books that I haven’t read yet, I will almost certainly finish four of them, and may finish all six. The only book by an author I haven’t already read and enjoyed is The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon, which I am currently reading and will probably finish next week.

For fathers, it’s more of a mixed bag. Of the 40 books written by fathers, I have DNFed 19 of them and read 16 (12 of which I think are worth owning). Of the five that I haven’t read yet, I’ll probably DNF at least one or two, so it’s safe to assume that there’s only a 50/50 chance I’ll enjoy a book if it’s written by a father, a little better than if it’s written by a childless man but not by much.

So there’s something about female authors that makes me much more likely to enjoy their books if they’ve decided to have children, and much less likely to enjoy them if they haven’t.

But I have to couch this discovery by saying “one of the best,” because so far, the best predictor that I will DNF a book is whether it won a Nebula without also winning a Hugo. Of the 31 books that have only won the Nebula, I have DNFed a whopping 23 and finished only 3 of them, none of which I thought was worth owning. Of the remaining five, however, I will probably finish at least another three of them, and all are books that I will probably decide are worth owning (Falling Free by Lois McMaster Bujold, The Speed of Dark by Elizabeth Moon, and Powers by Ursula K. Le Guin—all of them written by mothers). If that is the case, then the child-rearing status of the author (provided that she’s a woman) will indeed be the best predictor as to whether I’ll enjoy the book.

As for the decade in which the book came out, I’m slightly more likely to enjoy it if it was written between the mid-40s (counting retro-Hugos) and the mid-60s. From the mid-60s through the 70s, I thought almost all of the award-winning books were terrible (the only exceptions were Dune by Frank Herbert, which is more a creation of the early 60s, and The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed by Ursula K. Le Guin).

I haven’t yet read all of the books that came out in the 80s and 90s, but it generally looks like a 50/50 split, slightly favoring books from the mid-80s and disfavoring books from the late 90s. For the 00s, there isn’t enough data right now to say one way or the other. It’s the one decade left where most of the Hugo and Nebula award-winning books are still on my TBR.

But starting in 2010, the books all seem to become terrible again. The only exceptions are Blackout and All Clear by Connie Willis (whose heyday for the awards was really more in the 80s and 90s), The Three-Body Problem by Cixin Liu (a Chinese author who isn’t caught up in all of the culture war baggage here in the West), and The Network Effect by Martha Wells, which once again seems to be the exception that proves the rule.

“It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.”

So I DNFed Timescape by Gregory Benford today. I didn’t like any of the characters, and the retro-future view of the 90s as a dystopian post-climate catastrophe wasteland was predictably bad. But this quote from the afterword got me to thinking:

Habitual readers of science fiction will feel right at home with some features of Timescape: the ecological crisis, the contact between past and future and resultant time paradox, the scientists working to solve a scientific puzzle and save the earth [sic], and even a certain amount of scientific theorizing.

For 70s science fiction, the idea of an imminent, inevitable, and nigh-apocalyptic environmental collapse was thought to be so ingrained in the genre that it was accepted as a foundational trope of the genre. As a consequence, 70s science fiction tends to age very poorly. Almost all of the “important” works of the era, like Timescape, are infused with this Malthusian nonsense, and accept as axiomatic that all of the big crises of the 70s would only get worse and worse.

In contrast, the science fiction of the 40s and 50s was all about how science could help us to overcome the crises of their time, not how those crises were fundamentally insurmountable. Small wonder, then, that authors like Heinlein and Clarke inspired us to put men on the moon and satellites into orbit. And what did the authors of the 70s inspire us to do? Certainly not to tear down the Iron Curtain, pull the world back from the brink of nuclear war, or reduce global poverty at the most extraordinary rate in history. And yet, all of those things actually happened.

It makes me think of this apocryphal Mark Twain quote:

It ain’t what you don’t know that gets you into trouble. It’s what you know for sure that just ain’t so.

So what are some of the current assumptions of the science fiction field that will make future generations of readers scratch their heads? What are the things that will make the “important” works of 2020s science fiction age rather poorly?

Racial essentialism is probably a big one. I sense a growing cultural backlash against the racism of the intersectional left, especially in the wake of the George Floyd riots of 2020. That’s why the term “white supremacy” is in vogue right now, because the word “racist” has lost all of its power through overuse. If Worldcon doesn’t survive the pandemic, then I suspect that at least a few future SF historians will draw a connection between the Hugo’s demise and N.K. Jemisin’s three consecutive Hugo wins in the 2010s.

Transgenderism is probably another. Laying childish things aside, a society that rejects the biological essentialism of gender is not even metastable, as we’re seeing right now with all of the rapes in transgender bathrooms and prison facilities, with the obvious social contagion driving LGBTQ trends in the rising generation, and with all of the ways that political correctness demands that we reject basic science, typified so perfectly by the pregnant man emoji. That doesn’t necessarily mean that gender norms will revert to what they were in the 50s—in fact, I tend to think that the norms of that era were only metastable at best—but I do think that there’s a major cultural backlash on the horizon.

There’s a lot of other low-hanging fruit: the cli-fi of our era will probably age just as poorly as the apocalyptic visions of climate catstrophe written in the 1970s, and books that are based on 20s feminism will probably age just as poorly as 20s feminism itself. But what about some of the more difficult things to predict?

One of the more subtle ways that our current science fiction may age poorly is the complete ignorance of worldviews that clash with the established narrative. I would say that there’s a refusal to engage with contrary narratives, but it actually goes much deeper, as many writers are so deep in their own echo chambers that they don’t even know that contrary viewpoints exist. This has less to do with partisan politics and more to do with all of the ways that social media has re-engineered our society. Future generations will probably see the effects of this re-engineering much more clearly, and will wonder that the science fiction writers of our age were so unaware of how it affected them—both on the political right and on the political left.

Another less obvious thing is our generation’s lackadaisical and often schizophrenic attitudes on the importance of the family. When the chaos of the 20s is finally in the rear-view mirror, I suspect that there’s going to be a major groundswell of public interest in forming, cultivating, and maintaining strong families—largely because I suspect that’s how we’re ultimately going to find our way out of all this chaos. There’s a reason why Augustus Caesar, founder of one of the greatest empires in world history, placed such an emphasis on the importance of the family. Much of today’s science fiction takes it for granted that “love makes a family,” which was never true in any age—not even our own. It also takes for granted that found family is an adequate substitute for the real thing. With mutual commitment and great personal sacrifice, it can be, but that isn’t usually expressed on the page.

Does this feel a bit too much like wishcasting? How am I wrong, or what are some of the other things that I’ve missed? It’s probably just as difficult for us to answer this question as it is for a goldfish to comprehend what water is, but it is an interesting exercise, and hopefully a useful (or at least entertaining) one.