To DNF or NOT to DNF: That is the DebatE, Part I

A Recent Convert to the DNF Admission from a Self-Professed “Committed Reader”

“Did Not Finish?” The horror of the thought!

I used to always finish a book. Always. The philosophy that literature had absolute value was so deeply ingrained in me that it seemed a crime to not finish a book.

Why? Well, first I must note that my entire bibliophile philosophy was based on the premise that the books I was reading were vetted and recommended to me by respected authorities of literature. I wasn’t just picking any random book. Rather, I read through the lists of the “greatest books of the 20th century” or AP Literature book lists or the recommendation lists of my English teachers or professors later in life.

Then I attained my Master’s in Literature.

Therefore, I considered it my duty as an “astute reader” with a level of expertise to discover the inherent value of a text. Surely, there must be some fault in me if I were to fail at finding it. If I DNF—did not finish—a  novel, I might reveal weakness or even a chink in my intellectual capabilities. And that could NOT happen.

Because if these experts labeled a book as “good literature” and worth my time to read or study, and the publishing world or academia had deemed it valuable, then it must be. Right?

Am I the only one? I never thought of myself projecting this viewpoint on others. I certainly hope I didn’t unwittingly shame others via this belief. However, as someone who was an avid reader growing up, who both loved and excelled in reading and writing at school, it was a self-imposed standard certainly. I loved being a lover of story, and I proudly finished every volume and pushed my brain to seek the truth or insights of that text and understand the value it was said to offer me.

Perhaps this confession reflects an aspect of arrogance. “Look, I have finished every book I ever read, and I will justify to you why someone thought that book was worth reading and, thus, published it.” Maybe it was my own bragging version of the “X amount of books a year challenges,” etc. Could be. But as my opinions have shifted this past year, I see a deeper motivation:

I wanted to be a writer.

From the time I was a little girl I loved to write and create. The joy I felt in the written word and the act of manipulating words to make beautiful images satisfied my soul. Novels carried me across the threshold of my tiny bedroom in our mobile home to times past and future, countries I doubted I’d ever get to see, and vast worlds of imagination. The great stories exposed me to cultures, perspectives, and ideas that invoked deep contemplation of how I ought to interact with our world.

The act of creating—writing—sparked something sacred in my being. My convictions born of my faith say I come from a Creator God and that Jesus spoke in parables, so story must be valuable. Sharing stories that convey the mysteries of the world in a way that reaches not just a person’s mind but heart, too, MUST be a holy calling.

However, in our contemporary STEM-focused, sports-worshiping, lack-of-funding-for-the-arts society, writers and artists aren’t that respected, nor deemed particularly intellectual or valuable compared to other fields. Voices advised me that artists can’t make a living. But I wanted to be a writer.

So, the siren call of the great writers of the past centuries, the connoisseurs who cultivated book lists and selected award-winning literature, the academics who held up certain authors for illumination, the big publishing houses that endorsed certain work—the cry of all these voices—lent credibility to my passion. To borrow the prophet Isaiah’s words, they were the voices calling in the wilderness of my soul. No sacrilege intended. They validated my dreams in a way I believed God did.

To finish another author’s book was, in some retroactive way, affirmation that I mattered. That my investment in this field mattered. That if I wrote my stories, those could matter, too.

Ooof.

Nothing quite like a psychological deep dive into your entire core belief-system that’s framed your identity, shaped your career choices, and set a trajectory for your life…

But wasn’t this about the debate to DNF or not DNF?

Check back February 5th for Part Two where I bring this full circle…