I’m reading Jo Walton‘s Livejournal, and here’s the thing: I hardly read any more. I mean, I read things in the bookstore, but generally only from authors I already know I like; the last author I officially got into was Jim Butcher (and whoever they have ghost-writing the “Richard Castle” books, but that hardly counts; those are potato chip books par excellence, plus there are only two of them).
It’s weird, because I used to never go anywhere without a book. I’d smuggle them in my coat sleeves, if I had to. These days, not so much. It’s not just a matter of money, because I rarely even pick things up in the library. I’m not sure what’s up, except a vague feeling that I just don’t have time to read, which is fairly nonsensical.