Unexpected consequence of my ambitious reading goal

The problem with prodigious reading -- the problem, that is, with staying on track with my ambitious reading goal for 2013, to read 52 books -- is, well, the prodigious amount of reading.  

Look, it's a good problem to have, of course, but it does require the devotion of hours of time, hours that would otherwise have been spent differently. Spent on writing, for example.  Or folding laundry.

Sad truth which even I can't escape: only so many hours in the day.

And while I'm delighted to know that I am 3 books ahead of my goal for the year -- thanks to Goodreads, which tracks these (useful) metrics for me -- I also realize that my Type A and competitive qualities are a double-edged sword.  It does totally motivate me that I am 5% ahead of schedule.  That's just how I am.

Listen: I was always competitive about yoga, for crying out loud. So of course I'm competitive about reading.

I'm trying hard not to game the system by reading nonsense-books, the grown-up equivalent of those hateful Captain Underpants books for kids, just to hit my targets. So far this year, I've read some great stuff, really good books, no filler just to meet goal.

The list, so far, goes like this:

 I just finished Queen of Fashion: What Marie Antoinette Wore to the Revolution this morning, and have another book queued up for the weekend, Agincourt Bride.  Clearly I'm on a historical fiction kick, but don't bother me, I'm reading.

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