I’ve always been proud to call myself a reader. Smug, even. For some reason I still can’t fathom, when people refer to another as “a reader,” a hush falls over the room and everyone stares at the reader with admiration. I am a voracious reader of books, but considering that I read solely for entertainment and to escape from reality, I hardly deserve any approbation. Okay, reading has improved my vocabulary, but that’s the only benefit I can credit to the thousands of hours I’ve spent ignoring my family, and my ever-increasing laundry pile, to live vicariously through the characters in books.

Because being a reader is regarded as a noble thing, I can’t help but wonder why others proudly proclaim that they don’t read. Don’t do whatever you want in the privacy of your own home, but I would think it would be wiser to keep your non-activity private in a world where readers are revered.

Among readers, there’s a hierarchy. If you exclusively read nonfiction, then you’re considered an elite reader. Literary fiction is next, followed by other fiction, and the rest. There are many other categories, but I’m not going to try to think of them all for fear I’ll get side-tracked with categories, subcategories, genres, subgenres, etc.

Regarding my own reading habits, I  freely, yet sheepishly, admit that I ordinarily do not read nonfiction. I also don’t read to purposely learn anything. Whatever I inadvertently learn while reading seeps into my brain without any encouragement from me. That puts me, I shudder to acknowledge, on a par with someone who doesn’t read and only watches TV for entertainment. TV watchers who limit their viewing to political or learning channels fall higher on the Media Consumer Scale (which I just invented).

So, you ask, what am I trying to say, and why is it taking so many words to say it? What I’m saying is that books to me are brain candy: sweet and satisfying for the moment. I rarely recall what I read the day before and it’s even rarer for me to read a book that stays with me for days or weeks. Therefore, readers of my caliber do not deserve to be worshipped and adored by nonreaders, especially those who watch The History Channel or NOVA. (Worshipped and adored might be overstating the case, but permit me some hyperbole, since I know, from reading the word and then looking it up, what hyperbole means.)

To address the second part of your question, it is taking me so many words to make my case because I’m obfuscating the true purpose of this post: to promote my website, www.spbroundup.com, to all of the readers out there, regardless of where you fall on the Media Consumer Scale. My website is home to the works of self-published, or indie, authors. The quality of the books varies greatly, but so does the variety of topics. There are many fresh voices out there that, heretofore, were not heard—some deservedly. But there are many authors who have created quality works which deserve a look. So, do yourself a favor, and take a look. You’ll feel like a kid in a candy store.

Check out what indie authors have to offer at www.spbroundup.com.