If I carve my writing-related activities into writing (including revising), critiquing, blogging, and reading, I find I usually have time for maybe one-and-a-half of these in any given week. But not much more than that.
In the last two weeks, I've managed a reasonable amount of critiquing, a bit of revising to get my next chapter ready for Critique Circle, and read a novel. So I think I've been doing quite well.
Apart from the blog neglect, for which I apologise.
But, to get back to the point of the title, no, the reason for not reading much these days is not lack of time.
I got this book from the library. It is a fairly recently-written prequel to one of the classic greats of sci-fi. I was looking forward to more of the magic that entranced me many years ago.
Infodump! my inner editor kept screaming at me. Show, don't tell. Clunky sentence structure. There were whole paragraphs that could do with serious tightening up. Stop beating the point to death and get on with the freakin' story!
The story didn't seem to start until about a third of the way into the book. Most of the early chapters felt like a history lecture. Some of the details that should have added depth to the story seemed either contrived or comically amateurish, lacking the finesse of the original work. The climax felt a bit Deus ex Machina.
When I finished, I realised there were loose ends unaccounted for. That, on it's own, is not too much of a problem. A few ambiguous threads leave room for sequels, but they should be at least closed off in some way, not just abandoned mid-flow never to resurface. Worse, there was a whole plot line that was utterly disconnected from the story.
If this story had gone through any of the critiquing groups I've belonged to, it wouldn't have lasted five minutes. It would have been shredded mercilessly.
But this was a professional, published novel.
Don't get me wrong. I enjoyed the read. Just not as much as I'd anticipated. Also I enjoyed it more for that fact that it revealed how we arrived at the start of the sci-fi classic of my boyhood, than for the story itself.
This is why I don't read too much these days.