For the past few years I have sent a goal for myself – to read 50 books between January and December. I didn’t make it in 2015 or 2016, but I also didn’t include all the readings I was doing for school in those two years. But this week I finished by 50th book of 2017.

Not only have I read 50 books this year, but I have read books of poetry, graphic novels, books of essays, fiction and non-fiction. I have read books written by black women about being a black woman in this world. I have read books written by fat women about being fat in this world. I have read about history that I have never known. I read a funny book about Apartheid for goodness sake.

I have read books that came highly recommended and still exceeded expectations. I found new favourite authors. (I will be buying anything and everything else Amanda Lovelace writes, poetry or otherwise).

And I still have more than a month left to read some more. And a big ol’ pile of books to choose from.

So many books, and I want to dive into them all. I’m excited about reading again. I can stand in front of my shelf and look at my books and decide how I feel. This year I felt like re-reading some of my favourites, I felt like reading nitty gritty paperbacks, I felt like learning more about my country from different viewpoints.

(And I will be reading all the Richard Wagamese that exists, because sadly he passed away this year).

It is a struggle, because as much as I try to get through the books that have been in my to-read pile people still keep writing new ones.

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