Lately with my busy schedule, I’ve perfected a new art form: skimming.
I didn’t mean to. I open a book with the intent to read every single word and get the most out of it. But sometimes I’m there for the story plot rather than the writing. The words on the page aren’t as smooth as another writer’s, so I skim over them. I’m not interested in how the story is said, but rather what happens.
It’s been getting worse over the years too. I’ll read fewer words. From taking fast tests with a mountain of work to read in high school and college, I’ve learned how to get the most out of a page without reading every word. Dialogue is too important to skip, but I can scan the exposition and still know what’s going on.
I’m not sure this is the best for me. A part of me says it is because I’ve been able to read more and save time. I can get everything done work wise while still being able to read many books throughout the year. But another part of me says I still might be missing something. Sure, I know what happens in the story, but do I know the art of it as well?
But art is something not everyone can do and not everyone can skim either like I do. It could be a skeptical bliss.