Why Am I So Obsessive?
When I think back, I realise I’ve always been one of those people who gets obsessed with certain things and even certain people. I know kids get huge crushes on pop stars and actors, but I lived and breathed the Osmonds for years, with every spare inch of my bedroom walls covered in posters of them. Their albums were on my every Christmas list and my birthday wish list. I joined their fan club. I read their magazine. I watched every single programme they made an appearance on. I even wrote to Jim’ll Fix It - to no avail - begging him to let me meet them. (The least said about that the better.) This obsession only faded when it was replaced by an equally intense passion for Abba, then John Travolta and Saturday Night Fever and Grease.
My obsession with ponies was even stronger, if anything. It started with a ride on a beach pony called Candy when I was about seven. I was hooked. Once, my dad was doing some work for a couple whose daughter had a horse. He mentioned that I was pony mad, and the girl said in a polite sort of way that didn’t really mean anything, “Oh, well if she ever wants to see my horse she’s welcome to drop by.”
My dad made the big mistake of repeating this conversation to me.
The very next Saturday I walked miles to the field where she kept him, just to see him.
This was a bizarre event for several reasons:
I was the shyest child you’d ever meet, and going to see a complete stranger who was actually a teenager and about seven years older than me would normally be unthinkable. Yet there I was, dragging myself out on a winter’s day to stand and gaze at her horse.
It was a heck of a long walk in awful weather!
The girl clearly didn’t remember saying anything to my dad - or pretended she didn’t. She was with her friend and they both looked at me as if I was insane when I hesitantly explained who I was, yet I still didn’t go home!
I didn’t even get to stroke him let alone ride him - though looking back I can’t blame the girl for that. I just stood by the fence in the rain and cold and watched her and her friend ride him, without so much as a glance in my direction.
Even my parents thought I was a bit weird, and they knew me, so God only knows what she thought of me.
My sister’s friend, who was two-and-a-half years younger than me, was lucky enough to have several ponies. She lived down the same street as me, and whenever I saw her riding by on her first pony, with her dad walking by her side, I’d rush out to see them. I stayed stuck to their sides like glue, and I made it pretty much impossible for them not to offer me a ride. I’d then walk beside her as she rode back to the other side of town where the paddock was, just because I wanted to be close to the pony. God, I must have been a nightmare! I’ll bet they heaved a sigh of relief when we moved.
Collins Pony Library - loved them!
The Pullein-Thompson sisters were brilliant
Monica Edwards was a real favourite
Pony books became another obsession after I found one in the school library. I had no idea people wrote books about ponies! Every Saturday I’d head out on the bus to town and go straight to WH Smith, where I’d treat myself to a brand-new pony book off the shelf. In those days they had loads to choose from! Then I’d walk across town to the outdoor market and search out the second-hand book stall, where I’d buy as many vintage Armada paperback pony books as I could afford with the change.
At my school library I was over the moon to find row upon row of pony books, and of course I couldn’t just take one or more home at a time. I’d take armfuls of them. My teacher actually questioned me once, not believing that I’d read all those books in the space of a fortnight (we had library lessons every two weeks). I think my astonishment that he could even doubt it convinced him, and after that he’d help me look for ones I hadn’t read! They had the entire Collins Pony Library on the shelves. It was bliss.
Related: How Reading Made Me a Writer
But I grew out of these obsessions. Right? Er…
Nope. They continued into adulthood. I remember when we were considering buying a dog. I didn’t just decide to get a dog. I had to learn everything there was to know about dogs, even though I’d always had dogs in my life and how much more did I really need to learn? I bought books about different breeds and studied them intensely. I weighed up the pros and cons of each. I subscribed to dog magazines. I scoured pet shops, looking at various different dog foods and collars and harnesses and toys. I couldn’t sleep at night trying to decide if we should get a Labrador or a Golden Retriever.
Our darling Jake as an older gentleman
We ended up, on impulse, answering an advertisement in a local paper for puppies for sale, and came home with a little bundle whose father was half Border Collie and whose mother was anyone’s guess. So much for all that studying! But as it turned out, Jake was the most wonderful dog ever and grew up to be a real gentleman and we couldn’t have loved him more. He cost us £25. I spent more than ten times that on books and magazines trying to decide which pedigree breed to choose!
My first ever computer. I read every book and magazine going about them, did a computer course, and agonised over which brand to purchase. Why couldn’t I just buy one and figure it out as I went along like everyone else?
My interest in witches and magic. I ended up with a huge pine chest full of crystals, a wand, a chalice, tarot cards and endless witchy paraphernalia, not to mention countless books on the subject. I still have them actually, along with various wall plates and ornaments. I am fascinated with witches and love reading witchy books and watching lighthearted magical programmes and films. But that doesn’t mean I have to buy all the things that practising witches use, does it?
Related Reading: The Irresistible Pull of Magic and Mystery
I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with passions and collecting. If you love something and want to collect things around that subject then that’s fine. But the problem for me is that I don’t stay passionate about things. Maybe I’ll think about nothing else for six months. A year at a push. But then the interest fades and I’m left with nothing but regrets over how much time and money I’ve spent on something that no longer holds the same fascination for me.
Like Doctor Who. Now, I still love watching Doctor Who, but a few years ago I found there was a company who made figurines of all the characters, and that kick-started yet another obsession. I started off just buying one of the Eleventh Doctor because I adore him. But then I wanted the Thirteenth Doctor because she’s so happy and smiley and I thought she’d look great on my desk next to Eleven. But then I realised they sold the classic Doctors, too, and I so loved the Third Doctor. And if I’d bought three Doctors, of course I might as well buy all the others. And the companions. And the monsters they fought. I couldn’t have the Doctor without Daleks and Ice Warriors and Cybermen and The Master and Missy and River Song and Captain Jack and… Oh, and a Tardis. Of course I had to have the Tardis.
The Eleventh Doctor - it was all his fault!
Some of my obsessions in their early stages…
Soon my shelves were full to bursting with all these figures, and my bank balance was at an all-time low. I got fed up with them cluttering up my office and there was nowhere else to put them, so they ended up being packed away. I wouldn’t care but I hadn’t even kept them in their original boxes. If I’d done that they might have been worth something one day! But oh no. Not me. I ripped up the boxes and threw them away. It’s lucky that I have family members who love Doctor Who as much as I do, so at least they found a home.
A couple of years ago I watched a video about journalling. It was purely by chance. I’d heard of journalling of course, but I knew nothing about it and cared even less. But this video cast a spell over me. All that washi tape. All those stickers. Those pretty journals!
Before I knew it I had a drawer absolutely full of stickers, and I’d had to buy a storage chest for my scrap papers, glue sticks, cutting tools, brush pens and God knows what else. I filled a beautiful dark blue journal and bought another one. Pale pink and pretty.
I bought more washi tape. More stickers. I found online sites that sold the most incredible journalling supplies. I scoured Hobbycraft. I watched endless YouTube videos about journalling layouts and spreads.
Then, all of a sudden, I got bored. I stopped caring. I unsubscribed from the journalling channels on YouTube. I packed away my supplies. The pink journal sits neglected - just a few pages filled. Despite vowing to start again this January, I haven’t picked it up for nearly a year.
Related Viewing: I Think I Have a Problem - YouTube short
There have been many other obsessions. When I like something, I really like something. I can’t just be content with a passing interest. It’s all or nothing. It’s tiring and expensive and extremely frustrating for my poor husband who spends his life trying to accommodate my latest fad, putting up shelves, carrying things up to the loft, getting things back down from the loft, turning a blind eye to the parcels that arrive on the doorstep.
Now the books have almost taken over! Also, note the Washi tape.
I thought I’d start a YouTube channel. I didn’t just stick my phone on and record a few videos to see if I liked it. That would be too normal, right? Instead, I jumped straight in and invested in equipment. I bought an expensive camera. I bought a ring light and an overhead phone holder and a microphone. The ring light and the overhead phone holder are still in their boxes. Unused. I haven’t touched the camera for over a year. I’ve stopped making YouTube videos apart from book trailers and maybe the odd location film. The equipment is about to find a new home with another family member. I don’t know why I do these things.
I heard about Substack. I thought it sounded interesting. I read up loads about it. I studied it. I took a course on it. I made stacks of notes on it. I subscribed to lots of accounts and ploughed through multiple newsletters every week. I started the account. I posted loads. I spent ages faffing about with it. I got bored with it. I realised it was just more hard work that wasn’t going to do anything to help me sell books, and I actually preferred my own blog.
As with YouTube, I finally realised that I was happier following other, more competent people on the platform. I didn’t need to be part of it. I could just enjoy it as a consumer rather than a participant. Another lesson learned.
The Whitby Lit Fest kick-started my latest obsession - books!
Special edition and signed. I still haven’t read it yet though…
In November I went to the Whitby Literary Festival, and stayed in the town a whole week. While attending the events I bought signed copies of the authors’ books. Then I went to a bookshop and found a signed copy of a beautiful hardback with sprayed edges. When I got back home, I couldn’t seem to stop ordering print books. I mean, I’ve always ordered a lot of books to be honest, but they’ve always been Kindle books so:
I didn’t notice how many I bought
They didn’t take up as much space in the house
They weren’t as expensive!
Just before Christmas I really got into BookTube. These book vloggers, showing off their sumptuous copies of amazing books. So beautiful! I was easily persuaded into buying some of them. Even books I wouldn’t have dreamed of buying normally.
I spent every evening searching for new book vloggers who might review and talk about the sort of books I was becoming more and more interested in - vintage women’s fiction, cosy Golden Age crime, old children’s literature. I found them, and they introduced me to authors I’d never read before and book editions I’d never known were available. I quickly got another fixation, and started buying book after book after book.
The problem was compounded by the fact that, after years of being unable to read print due to my poor eyesight, I saw a different optician, got a much better pair of reading glasses, and treated myself to a special HD light that meant I could finally read books that weren’t on my Kindle. Bliss!
So naturally, I wanted to make up for lost time. And boy, did I! So many paperbacks from Dean Street Press, Virago, Persephone, The British Library and others. The wall unit that previously housed my Doctor Who figurines and my little models of horses and cottages is now another bookcase.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me. ‘Everything in Moderation’ is definitely not my motto.
Years ago I bought a scratch card. They hadn’t been out long, and on my first attempt I won £200.
Well, I thought, this is easy money.
I bought another. And another. Before I knew it I’d spent £40 on scratch cards and hadn’t won a bean. I couldn’t afford to spend that kind of money on anything, let alone gambling. My grandad was a gambler. I’d grown up knowing the devastation that had caused and I knew where I was heading if I carried on like that.
Thankfully, as soon as I realised what was happening I stopped buying them immediately, and I haven’t bought a scratch card since the day I made that decision. It’s been decades and I have no desire to buy them again.
But books… How do you avoid those? Especially when books and writing are not only your career but your life?
But when I sat down and worked out what I’d spent on books since Christmas, I was genuinely shocked. It was ridiculous. Crazy.
Look, I don’t smoke. I don’t drink. I rarely go out socially. I’m not one for buying lots of clothes, or shoes, or expensive handbags. I don’t have any loans, I don’t even have a credit card. I pay all my bills on time. It’s not like I’m getting into debt to fund my book-buying habit or anything.
Even so, it’s crazy because:
That money should go on other, far more important things (?), like a new stair carpet or a holiday.
I should be putting more money into my savings account because you never know what might happen in the future.
I haven’t (and I can’t stress this enough) got the room for any more books!!!!
If I lived to be a hundred and eighty I don’t believe I could read all the books I have on my bookshelves, in the loft, and on my Kindle. It’s just not possible.
I have Kindle Unlimited, so why am I buying expensive print books anyway, and why am I a sucker for sprayed edges and a ribbon?
I decided, therefore, to put myself on a book buying plan. That was it. I was going cold turkey. I’d bought so many books in January and February that I didn’t need to buy any more until 2027. Deal made.
Then I remembered my Kindle Unlimited subscription. Did that count? Should I cancel it?
I’ll cancel it, I thought. I don’t really need it. I have so many books to read already.
Then I googled it because I wanted to know - if I cancelled my subscription, would I lose the books I’d already “borrowed” on it? Well, naturally the answer was yes, and since I hadn’t read most of them that wasn’t an option. Besides, there are so many amazing books on Kindle Unlimited, and in the long run it would save me money because I wouldn’t have to buy them. Right?
Related Listening: Series 2, Episode 2 of Brew and Bookcraft Podcast with me and Helen Phifer
Then I watched a BookTuber talking about a Jane Austen novel, and she was holding up the most gorgeous edition that I’d ever seen. And I went on Amazon and searched for it, and I found it. And I also found that those particular editions included other Jane Austen novels, and some Bronte novels, and even Little Women.
The first ones have arrived!
Right, I thought. I already have a beautiful clothbound edition of Jane Eyre - naturally. But I haven’t got Wuthering Heights. Well, except on Kindle but that doesn’t count. So I ordered Wuthering Heights. It came and I was enchanted with it. So beautiful! But, I suddenly thought, now my edition of Jane Eyre doesn’t match, and you’re allowed to have more than one edition of a book you really love. I’ve seen loads of BookTubers with multiple editions of their favourite books.
So I ordered Jane Eyre. And while I was at it I ordered Emma by Jane Austen. And then I ordered Sense and Sensibility. This morning I’ve received Pride and Prejudice. The only reason I haven’t ordered Persuasion (despite having an absolutely gorgeous edition that The Husband bought me last Christmas), Northanger Abbey and Mansfield Park - not to mention The Tenant of Wildfell Hall - is because they haven’t published those. Yet. (But fingers crossed! Ahem…)
I’d love to say those are the only new books I’ve bought since my book-buying ban, but I’d be lying. However, I have made a promise to myself. From now on I’ll only buy print books if they’re not available on Kindle. That will be much cheaper and it will save me a lot of room. I’ll do my level best to only buy Kindle books in future - and preferably I’ll choose ones I can read on Kindle Unlimited. I really will.
I mean, what do you think? Am I a disgrace, or is it perfectly reasonable to spend your money on books if you really love them and get real, genuine pleasure just from gazing at them and stroking them, never mind reading them?
Do you have these obsessions - for books or anything else? If so, have you just accepted it, or have you figured out a way to stop yourself? I can’t be the only person who behaves in this way. Can I?
Wish me luck!
Have a great week,
