Lost in worlds, found in our world

Logen stalks back to the campfire, his mind on their mission to snuff out resistence. Something’s wrong. The site’s been disturbed, carelessly turned over. He turns just in time to catch the full-on charge of a flathead; its mouth open, ready to make contact with flesh. Logan grabs hold of the beast, his attention on one thing; keeping those razor-sharp canines away from his face. They edge toward the cliff, and with all focus on staying alive Logan, logan misses his step and tumbles over. The flathead sinks its teeth into Logen's leg just as they hit the icy river. Later, alone, far down river, willing warmth back into his shivering bones, Logen breathes spirits into being on the tiny campfire. They speak a name, a place, and his real adventure begins.

Did I get that story correct? Nah, probably not. It’s from memory. But it’s enough to pull you in.

Then there's Will and Waymar hiking through the extreme cold of the north. They’re dressed for it, of course. This is their job. As men of the Night’s Watch, sworn to duty, they must root out wildlings from the lands beyond the wall. But something is different. Evil lurks. Bodies are strewn out in defined patterns, the handiwork of creatures they’ve only heard stories of. Then it’s too late, they’re surrounded by beings whose ice blades smash through steel.

The beginnings of both these stories pulled me in, and I knew I’d have to read the rest. In the first, The Blade Itself, you follow Logen Ninefingers' story, and root for a character even as you wonder whether he deserves the title of hero. But the story has you captured and you must know the end. For me, that meant reading the entire 10-book series, twice. First to catch the tale, and a second time to put all the crazy pieces together.

The second example, of course, is from A Game of Thrones. There are more series, of course, that I could happily recite from memory. But that’s part of the problem with fiction. There’s too much to read—and too much to love. My favorite books are a moving target based on re-readability, recensy bias, and engagement with the characters.

Then there’s my current favorite.

Carl hears his ex-girlfriend’s cat screeching out his apartment window in the dead of night—in the middle of winter. He grabs his ex’s tiny Crocs and sludges out through the snow. Just as he’s helped the prissy feline escape from the tree, everything around him collapses. Buildings disappear. A voice booms overhead against the still air, and his poor neighbor’s head rolls to his feet. A tunnel opens; the voice offers an invitation to enter, or he can stay and die of hypothermia. He enters, and the cat gains sentience. ¹

That story is from Dungeon Crawler Carl, with the eighth book currently in production.

Now, to be clear, these aren’t books I’m necessarily recommending you should go read. But I’m not recommending against reading them either. And, if you do, I’d suggest Dungeon Crawler Carl, The Blade Itself, and probably skip A Game of Thrones to save yourself the pain of an unfinished story. ²

The point, though, is that getting lost in these worlds, and countless more like them, pulls you into the lives of characters mid-story, while unintentionally learning lessons about life itself and how we humans navigate through it.

Early on as a kid, I started with tales of Mark Twain, the classics from the likes of Rudyard Kipling, and Louisa May Alcott. Then I found Tolkien, and my bar for what’s considered great fiction rose. I started reading a bit later than the average kid, but within a year, I was consuming thousand-page volumes, eager to digest any stories I could get my hands on.

In my late teens, I stopped reading most fiction, and focused on my career and reading for work. But a decade later, I got back into it. Since then, I’ve been regularly rotating between fiction and non-fiction. Often swapping between genres every 3-4 months.

The secret to enjoying reading is to read what you enjoy. If a story becomes a slog, pause and pick up another book. It shouldn’t feel like homework, shouldn’t feel forced. Sometimes the brain isn’t in the right space for a specific topic, so just go over to another genre entirely.

Having a completionist mindset isn’t necessarily a problem in some areas of life. But for reading it shouldn’t stop you from loving great stories. My advice is to read what you love, and then expand your love of reading over time.

Find a great book, try a chapter or two, and continue if it holds your interest.

Reading fiction has encouraged my love for non-fiction, has helped with understanding the nuances of human emotion, connection, and has continually inspired my own writing as I seek to pull together the types of stories I’d like to read next.

If you don’t love reading it may be because the reading you’ve done didn’t connect with your interest at the time. Go on, give it a look. There’s so many great books to try.

^{1. Seems to be a theme with my favorite series and starting in the dead of winter.}

^{2. Although, if we’re being honest, every moment in that chaotically weaved story was an absolute delight, even if the winter will never come.}