#mysoapbox

I am of the belief that reading is work as well as writing! Many readers today, it seems, expect authors to do all the work, catering to their every need; but this kind of world view can become detrimental to the reader. I can attest to this. For a time, I had no interest in reading anything—I couldn't find books that filled the myriad of expectations I had. The only good thing that came from this is that I wrote more so I could compensate for my disappointment in others. But even so, my writing withered from a lack of exposure to diversity.

I quickly learned my problem: the expectations I put on other authors did nothing to them and only robbed me of my joy. If I went into a story expecting one thing and got another, I would be filled with negative emotions: disappointment, irritation, and maybe a bit of condescension. I thought to myself, 'I could write something better than this!' But the problem was those negative feelings shuttered me from the true experiences of the book, experiences that—if I had not allowed my ego to get in the way—I would have enjoyed greatly. I might have appreciated the characters more, or the plot progression, or the message of the book, if I had slowed down and really tried to reach for what the author was saying. If I had considered why they had done something rather than writing it off as 'bad,' then I might not have lost interest in reading for so many years.

The way I see it, reading is a lot like having a conversation. It takes active listening and understanding. It's a relationship between author and reader, and a relationship requires effort on both sides. If the reader behaves as a house guest, expecting the author to cater to their every need, then they will be undoubtedly disappointed in areas; but if they treat the author as a friend, a relative, an acquaintance, then it becomes a symbiotic relationship where there may be struggles, but they are worked through. They are understood. A person who is chronically a guest without putting forth any effort into the relationship or their situation has a name—a moocher.

What does that mean for readers, then? Reading and writing are not merely crafts for entertainment. They are the vessels which carry information from one mind to another, which pass on experiences impossible and fantastic and allow us a temporary step out of our own shoes. In this age where instant gratification precedes hard work and diligence, reading and writing also find themselves victims of the convenience epidemic. We want something that will distract us. We want something that will entertain us. We want it now, now, now! But when it's given to us? We whine and complain.

Let me tell you this—there are better uses of time and energy than to hang upon how we think a book should have ended. There are better uses of headspace than to focus on a dislike of character, prose, or perhaps even an entire book. Of course, this is not to shut down genuine criticism—but so much criticism does not come from a place of genuineness. It comes from a place of bias, a place of taste, a place of expectations. It comes from a reader being a house guest and not a collaborator working to understand the author and the story.

It's tough to eliminate expectations. I'm not perfect at it. When I crack open a new book, whether I'm aware of it or not, there's always something invisible lurking in the back of my mind, waiting to spoil my enrichment. But when we as readers begin to remove ourselves from the expectation of what we think writing should be—when we step away from what is "current" or "popular" and think more deeply about the whys, the author's intentions, their hard work, their backgrounds, and their reasons for writing—then we shift into a more open mindset. We are more willing to listen to what the author is saying instead of what we think they should be saying. Because unless we've paid the author personally to write this story, they haven't written it for any of us. They've written it for themselves. A painter does not unpromptedly create a work of art found in the confines of another mind. If artists could do that, then they'd be telepaths, and they'd probably rule the world.