Reading to learn vs. reading to inspire… My guilty, yet jubilant return to fiction

So this quick, unpolished post (rattled off on the train on the way back from London) was inspired by a wonderful experience yesterday evening —sitting on a panel at an event at Waterstones, Tottenham Court Road to celebrate the shortlist announcement for this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction.

There I sat… on a small stage, wine in hand, inspired by our Chair- the incredible author, Kate Mosse, the backdrop (of books emblazoned with the names and faces of my literary heroes), next to a panel of my entrepreneurial heroes — Sarah Wood, Sharmadean Reid and Melanie Eusebe (+ the many Os, Ms, Bs and Es that follow their names…). What. An. Honour.

I read. Hell, I read. Constantly. Everything that hits my radar — articles on good tech, bad tech, feminism, politics, management, mental health, child psychology (and most depressingly, cumulative hours of simplistic, polarising, angry and/or, mind-numbing, social click-bait). I audible books to take advantage of walking and travel time; I bookmark article recommendations; I like my Kindle, but I love physical books and book shops, buying copies on a whim; I hold their smooth covers and fresh unopened spines greedily in my hands when they arrive — and then they mostly sit, unopened, unread (although I hope, as evidence of my intellectual interest and intention) on a prominent bookshelf in my kitchen, taunting me with judgement on how I waste and prioritise the time that keeps me from them.

I don’t read fiction. I haven’t now for c. 20 years (give or take mindless, instantly-forgettable crime fiction on beach holidays). This wasn’t always the case. I absolutely loved fiction as a child and young adult. Classics especially, but also the latest bestsellers, chick lit, Bridget, Grisham, Coelho, Rowling.

But I simply don’t have the time these days. I have such a limited number of hours in the day and a young family that must take priority. The reading time I find on-the-go is ‘mobile optimised’ and has been dedicated to furthering my business knowledge, ideological interests and career. Book club requests come… I hesitate… they go. There has been no time for frivolous, indulgent fantasy… or so I told myself. Shame on me.

I was wrong. I MUST read fiction. We all must. My radar, social-filters, time management and priorities have been bang off.

Why? Because fiction allows us to transcend ourselves; to walk in others’ shoes; marvel at others’ imaginations and wordsmithery; appreciate nuance; and expand our world view and powers of expression (one would hope, enabling us to find better words than ‘wordsmithery’, avoid never-ending, rambling sentences and semi-colon/ ‘…’ over-use when blog-writing). Above all, their capacity to capture important, perspective-shifting emotions and observations through fictional heroes’ experiences.

So I hereby commit to reading fiction every night before bed. To shutting Jess, my business, family, to-do lists and day-to-day stresses out for at least 30 minutes a day in order to briefly inhabit someone else’s imaginary world. It’s mindfulness of a different kind, and I’ve already found myself sleeping deeper and better since my recent reawakening to fiction.

Who knows, it might inspire me to create some imaginary worlds of my own for others some day. Although hopefully with fewer semi-colons and …’s.

Footnote: Here’s the amazing shortlist of books on this year’s Women’s Prize for Fiction which I’m now working my way through. And for reference, the book that I chose to talk about tonight (albeit not fiction) was Kate Gross’s ‘Late Fragments — Everything I Want to Tell You (About this Magnificent Life)’. It’s a beautiful book that you drink-in, as opposed to read — and most likely in a single sitting. It’s one I’ve read 3x in 3 years due to its ability to re-centre me and more sharply focus my priorities and perspective. It sings about the joys of fiction.

Book club, anyone?