In a fit of self-imposed expectation - after gorging myself on bullet journaling content on Instagram at the end of 2021 - I decided to impose some radically different structures on my Book Journal for 2022. Quite a few of these design choices ended up being totally welcome, and honestly, darn helpful... and one, in particular, threw one of my absolutely worst impulse habits into pretty sharp relief.
I monitored each book I took onto my shelves. I started tracking all of my bookish buys, at the top of each month, on a spread I called "The Receipts."
(And before you asked, no, I did not manage to spell "receipts" correctly each month. In fact, I got it wrong more often than not. Sometimes, I spelled it correctly, and still second-guessed myself, and had to do it over again anyways.)
That's not all I tracked, either, as I also made sure to write when I had been given a bookish gift, or checked out something from the library, too.
Am I positive the numbers are correct and squared away on everything? No, of course not. There's a margin of error for everything human-shaped, and honestly, I feel that mathmatical margin should have a higher allowance when dealing with an English major (Or, at a minimum, just this particular English major). But the fact of the matter is, even if there was some how a chance that I flubbed the numbers a little, the overall effect would still be the same: I spend way too much damn money on books.
For instance, in January 2022 alone, I checked out ONE book from the library, purchased TEN discounted Kindle novels in ebook format, was delivered SIX books from a Book Outlet order for myself, and purchased SIX additional books for other members of my family.
Of all those books, only ONE of those ended up getting read by the end of the year, let alone month.
And it was the library book.
You see my problem?
Now I know what you're thinking: what kind of numbers are we talking, here? Well...
All told, I read FORTY-SIX books in 2022. (Of those, far less than half were from my own shelves as they existed before the start of the year.)
According to my own (flawed) bookkeeping, the number of physical, in-my-hand-and-on-my-shelves measurable books I either purchased or was gifted and own now, taking up room on my tangible, material shelves, is NINETY-FIVE.
And that's not including the THIRTY-NINE ebooks I also added to my Kindle.
Nor does it factor in the SEVENTY-SIX books I checked out - be it in person, on audiobook, or on Kindle - from my local library. (That being said, a lot of those are cookbooks, or audiobooks I don't actually end up listening to, so... free pass, right?)
I also ended up buying THIRTY books for other people - I'm such a giver! - which, depending on which member of my family you are, typically end up making their way onto my shelves, too.
As you can clearly see, that kind of math doesn't scan. Not even a little bit. What's the point of clearing books off of my shelves, like I did in June, if I'm just going to fill them up almost immediately with enough reading material it would take me another two years to clear it all out again, to find my way back to NOT zero, but instead, the over 300 books I had started with? Why do I do this to myself?
Obviously, something has GOT to give. Which means taking a step back... once more, into a time machine, back to the years of 2015 and 2017. (We were so young back then.)
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| By far, my biggest month for obtaining physical books was my Birthday month, back in October. Whether it was due to a self-indulgent Powell's haul, or presents from family, or a splurge at my favorite local secondhand store, I got a total of THIRTY BOOKS added to my shelves. And of course, three from the library. |
book buying ban: we've been around the world, and we'll do it again
First up: 2015. I'm a Junior-then-Senior in college at University of Washington in Seattle, soaring through my term on Panhellenic, living in the city over the Summer for an internship that falls apart almost immediately, and then, moving into an apartment for the first (and so far, last) time. I'm not yet horrifically depressed, and instead, only a gentle sort of semi-depressed, one that comes from being tremendously busy, and seeing a cliff edge in the horizon but not yet being close enough to panic about hitting the brakes.
I don't even mention my Book-Buying Ban until after it's already over, on January 9th of 2016, when I talk about what I learned from the experience. My reasoning behind the decision was basic enough - I was saving money, and reading books I already owned, natch - but I still ended up reading 79 books all-told that year.
(Ahem. We don't need to talk numbers in the wake of this year's botched Goodreads Challenge... but it's nice to reflect on what you were once capable of, you know?)
Some of the lessons I learned: how to effectively use every corner of the Tacoma Public Library system, both virtual and physical; understanding the emotional catalysts in play that make me want to buy books; recognizing the benefits of collecting hardcovers; the joys of having friends who lend you things without making you pay for them.
We take 2016 as it comes - and it seems to be, both personally and socioculturally, kind of a loss all-around - and we stumble into 2017 with the best of intentions. We've done it before, right? Why not make the challenge again? After all, we did it when we were just a poor college student... we're now a poor college grad, and that feels even worse!
At the time, I head my blogpost announcing said ban with an image, of the 80+ books I have amassed, and not yet read. Oh, no. Eighty? Poor January 2017 Savannah might drop dead of shock if we tell her that we're now well into the four hundreds. (She'd also probably be angry about the fact that we're still single, and maybe even the haircut, but she'll recover.)
My Word of the Year was "Curate," and I was feeling the editorial spirit; hence, why the intentional streamlining of shelves. More than that, I was having troubles going into bookstores and finding anything I was actually interested in buying, rather than reflecting on all of the unread things at home (Was 2016 just a particularly bad year for publishing, or something?).
I ended up reading 60 books in 2017 - a steep drop-off from, again, 69 in 2015 - but expressed dismay that I didn't end up clearing as many books off of my shelves as I had originally intended. (That siren song emanating from the local library branch is a beguiling mistress.)
Both years, though, I gave myself a couple of "outs" for my challenge: I would be allowed to purchase FIVE books on my Bloggoversary, in late July... and in 2017, I budgeted for TWO books on Independent Bookstore Day, as well (which brought the total for that year up to seven). And of course, library books were always a given, and I was open and available to receive books as presents, too. See? Totally doable.
Which is why I know I'm more than capable of doing it all again.
what the plan is for 2023
It's a testament to how badly I need this challenge this year, in how desperate my weasel-brain has tried to squirm its way into a couple of exit tunnels already, even before the year had really begun in earnest. "But this doesn't count for the library, right?" it whines over breakfast. "And not cookbooks, either? We love new cookbooks!" 
No, it doesn't count for the library. Or, for that matter, for cookbooks (because I am weak, and extremely susceptible to thrift stores). But I'm being a lot more conscious of why I pick up books in the first place... what makes me feel that desperate, wiggly sensation in my chest that makes me think, "I need to get to Barnes and Noble before it closes!"
So remember how I said I had those pages in my Book Journal about what books I was buying, every single month, "The Receipts"? (Editor's note: I spelled it wrong again in typing this out.) I'm keeping those pages, but calling them something different: Book Cravings. When I feel those intense emotions in a bookstore, or when I find myself wandering through the paperback aisles in Goodwill, what am I feeling? What am I actually looking for, lusting after? Is it something I can actually find on a shelf? Is it something I can find on a shelf at home?
Am I looking for an emotional release, some kind of self-soothing technique that's morphed into something transactional? When I use it as a way to celebrate myself on a good day, is it something that could instead be better turned towards a coffee with friends, or a call with my sister? Am I trying to distract myself from something important, that warrants more of my attention? Is there more at play here than just a credit card scan, or that pressed-paper, unbroken-spine, tactile sense of physical grounding when the cashier puts the book back in your hand, along with a receipt?
You know, Book Cravings. Those things you're feeling when you're Craving a Book. It's not rocket science.
I think that by tracking the emotions I tie to the act of acquiring new reading material, it will give me greater clarity as to how this particular hobby impact my emotional needs long-term (let alone the financial ones). Chances are, there are other needs here that are not being met when I download a batch of $1.99 romance novels on my Kindle that end up sitting there, untouched, for over a year, and I want to find out what they are.
So, that's the plan! No Barnes & Noble, Powell's, King's, Thrift Books, or Book Outlet, until the new year... or, you know, July, for my Bloggoversary. Unless I want a cookbook, or to go to the library.
Come on, guys. I'm being serious. Stop laughing!
Have you ever undertaken a book-buying ban before? Do you remember when I completed these challenges last time? Let me know, in the comments below!
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