An avid reader while growing up, I broke many rules: got caught reading with a flashlight under the sheets well past bedtime, dog-eared pages to the chagrin of most people who witnessed the heinous act, and read books well past age appropriateness (looking at you Flowers in the Attic) to name a few. Despite my flirtatious relationship with rule breaking, one thing I never did was annotate books. 

At all.  

Writing in books was a line only true, hardened criminals crossed. My book report thoughts were kept in spiral-bound notebooks, and my favorite quotes were scribbled on whatever random sticky-note or piece of scrap paper I could find (and then later lose because who the hell can keep track of random sheets of scrap paper?).   

If only I had been more of a rebel… 

Let me explain. 

Not only was I obsessed with books, but also two other forms of media: video games and music. Video games were the interactive platform that truly bloomed an infatuation with escapism. While I’m sure there’s some deep-rooted, childhood reason that I’m on the pro-escapism side of the argument, I don’t think anyone who feels the same needs to dig that deep, just glance at the world around us for more than five minutes and I’m sure you’ll become a fan.  

But I digress.  

Video games let us craft our experience with them however which way we want. Speed run? Go for it. Completionist? Here’s a blank spreadsheet for you. No matter the avenue you take, there’s something to that tangible aspect; it transforms us from witness to participant. A similar phenomenon occurred with music as well. See, I’m from the time of burning mix CDs and writing what I thought were deep, meaningful titles on them. I recently found a stack. Discs of silver with scribbled permanent marker that brought me back to the moment I made them.  

So why did I never attempt to bring that extra level of connection to my affinity for reading? Well, because I was told only the most horrible people write in books. If you know me at all, you know I don’t want to be a horrible person. I think they’re overrated. And annoying.  

Fast-forward to my mid-thirties with a writing hobby that’s slowly transitioning to a ‘career’, and a more relaxed attitude (thank you legalized cannabis) toward just about everything, I find myself with the sudden desire to, quite simply, mark the ever-loving hell out of the books I’m reading.  

Let me be clear: these are books I’ve bought, not borrowed from someone else or a library (I’m not that much of a monster). But, after fully annotating two so far, and moving onto this year’s The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy, I can promise you that this is going to be a trend. 

Permanently marking my thoughts on the page has brought me closer to not only the words and the story, but the physical book itself. It’s a running tally of what I love and don’t love in a piece, things I want to learn from, and things I want to avoid. This small act of rebellion against past rules has brought a new level of complexity to my reading as well as a new way to understand what works and doesn’t work for me on the craft side of writing.  

While this might not be a new revelation to those that have been highlighting and marking their non-textbooks for ages, for the ones who still toe the line, consider breaking this rule. It might just hone your connection with the world between the pages.

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