As a child I devoured books until my eyes blurred. When my GCSEs came around, I exercised the stamina of a monk, revising for hours without pause. But in recent years, I’ve watched that capacity for intense concentration dissolve into infinite scrolling on my phone. My attention span now contracts like a slug at the touch of a finger. Reading for pleasure feels less like nourishment and more like endurance training. And for someone who writes for a living, this is a professional hazard as well as something that made me sad. I wanted to restore that mental elasticity, to halt the brain rot.
So, about a year ago, I made a small vow: every time I came across a word I didn’t know – whether in a novel, an article, or an overheard conversation – I would look it up and write it down. Nothing elaborate, no leather-bound journal or fountain pen. Just a running list kept, ironically, on my phone. Each week, I’d spend a few minutes reading the list back in an attempt to lodge the word into my memory.
