I love to read, which is probably not a surprise. And I’m a very good reader of other people’s work, when I’m doing it professionally. (If you’re looking for a nonfiction book coach, you know whom to email! It is me! Me whom you email!) When I’m doing it as my job, I read with great care.

But when I read for fun, it’s chaos.

I read way too fast. I inhale books. I have so many books queued up on my library app (oh, sweet Libby! How did I survive before you?), and I want to read them all at once. Which would be impossible, so instead I read them quickly, in rapid succession. Typically I read at least two books a week, but I’ve been known to read a book in a day, easy. This sounds like I’m bragging, only the results of my sprint-reading suggest that my brain don’t work good. As soon as I’m done with a book, it leaves my head, poof, and all I have left is a vague good feeling about said book, or a bad feeling. Maybe a phrase or an image, if I’m lucky. I either shove good books at my friends while inarticulately grunting or I shove bad books in the garbage, also while grunting. (Figuratively speaking. In a literal sense, I return them to the library, or leave them outside for someone else to take. While doing this, I employ only the grunts needed to get the job done.)