The Parking Lot Confessional

This week at the PLC our topic is reading.

I’m a big fan of reading.

One of the reasons we bought our current house was because it had enough room to build shelves for our many books.

I’m the easiest person ever to shop for. Books, books, more books, gift cards and money to buy books.

And if you’re expecting a gift from me, three guesses what I’ll be getting you. Yep, that’s right.

I love books. I love reading. I recently wrote about why in this post at Amy writes.

When I was a kid, I always had my nose in a book. I went through book phases: kitten books, horse books, Boxcar Children books, Ramona books, Nancy Drew books, Judy Blume books… I’m shocked there are pictures of me as a kid that actually show my face, seeing as it usually was concealed behind a book.

As soon as my children were born, I couldn’t wait for them to read. I even tried to inspire them in utero, reading aloud to them each night. Poetry mostly. Shakespeare, Browning, Eliot. I just knew my reading would encourage their developing brains to appreciate words and meter and rhyme.

I believe some of this work has already paid off: both of my kids are natural storytellers. My daughter even constructs her narratives with a classic story arc, ratcheting up tension with each new, “…And then…” or “…Little did she know…”

Imagine my elation when she learned how to read. Each night we worked our way up from board books to early readers, until now, finally, we’re getting into chapter books. Huzzah! Hello, Little Women! Hello, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle! Hello, Ramona the Brave! Mama is happy.

Except…

There are so many other things she’d rather be doing. She’s a busy girl, with things to see and do and explore. And as much as she loves reading with me at bedtime, getting her to sit still to read during the day is next to impossible.

Even today, sick with an earache, I set her up on the couch with her pillow, her blanket and the many books she got for Christmas.

What could be better? I thought of the days I’d spent sick on the couch, enjoying that time to do nothing but read.

But my daughter groaned. She didn’t want to read. She wanted to be up and about. Couldn’t she sit over on the floor and play with her dolls and still get better that way?

I admit, I was disappointed.

She hasn’t yet caught the reading bug. I can sense she’s *almost* there. Now she takes books with us in the car to read along the way. Now she shows interest when the Highlights magazine comes in the mail. But still, she’d rather sit and listen to me read to her than put in the effort herself.

*sigh*

Part of me worries she won’t catch the bug. That she’ll grow up to be a non-reader. Odds are, she won’t. But still… I shudder at the thought.

So, aside from making books available to her, reading with her at bedtime, and setting an example for her by reading books myself, I’m a bit at a loss what to do. How do I inspire her to read, short of standing on my soapbox and proclaiming the mysteries of the written word to her?

And not just my daughter, my children, but what about society as a whole? Increasingly, we read less and less. Book sales continue to decline. As does the reading competency of our average citizen. As an aspiring Young Adult novelist, this casts a gloomy pallor on my target audience.

So I’m hoping to hear from you. How should we, as writers and parents and teachers and citizens, inspire the next generation of readers? How have you inspired those in your life to read? What has worked? What hasn’t worked?

I’m looking forward to your comments. In the meantime, I’ll just be over here finishing up this book I’m reading…