How to Force Yourself to Read Boring Required Summer Reading: Practical Tips for Students
Mid-July, the AC in our kitchen is working overtime to fight 85-degree humidity, I’m folding a pile of my 10th grader Lila’s soccer shorts that have been sitting on the couch for three days, when she slams her summer reading book shut hard enough to make my half-empty iced tea slosh over the edge of the glass. “Mom,” she says, staring at the crumpled book cover like it personally insulted her, “how do I force myself to read this? I’d rather scrub the toilet than turn another page.”
I recognize that look. I was 16 once, assigned The Scarlet Letter for 11th grade summer reading, and I left it tucked in my beach bag under a pile of old towels for the entire month of July. When I finally pulled it out two nights before school started, I read the first 30 pages, then got so bored I flipped to the back and SparkNoted the whole middle. I got a D on the first reading quiz, and I still can’t tell you much about Hester Prynne’s needlework beyond what I remember from the 1995 movie. So I don’t give her that “it’s a classic, it gets good” speech that adults love to pull out. I know what that feels like: when a book feels like a chore you can’t escape, every line feels like pulling teeth, no matter how good it’s supposed to be.
We sat down that afternoon and messed around with small, low-effort changes, no big study overhauls or lectures about responsibility. The first mistake Lila was making came from trying to get it over with fast: she’d blocked out an hour every morning after breakfast to read straight through. I told her willpower doesn’t work that way, especially on summer break. Your brain’s used to lazing around, you can’t just pull an hour of focused attention out of nowhere when every part of you wants to be at the pool with your friends.
We changed it to 12-minute chunks. 12 minutes of reading, that’s it. Phone goes on do not disturb, face down on the other side of the table. When the 12 minutes are up, you get 3 full minutes to do whatever you want: check texts, get a popsicle, stretch, pet the dog. Lila thought that was too short, that she’d never finish that way. We did the quick math: four chunks a day is 48 minutes of reading, she’d finish the 300-page book in three weeks, which was plenty of time before school started. First day, she did four chunks before lunch, and she didn’t even complain that much after. She was shocked she didn’t zone out the whole time.
Next, we swapped her reading spot. She’d been curled up on her bed to read, which is where she scrolls TikTok and takes naps after soccer practice. Your brain gets used to what a space is for, so laying in bed to read just makes your brain think it’s time to relax or zone out. We picked a new spot: the wobbly old porch swing out front, where she only goes to do this summer reading. I told her her favorite iced coffee from the shop down the street is only allowed there when she’s reading, a small immediate reward for showing up. Now, as soon as she sits down, her brain starts to shift into reading mode without her having to fight it.
Then we added a social angle. She’s not the only kid in her AP Lang class reading this book. I told her to text her friend Mia, who’s also assigned it, one silly reaction or rant every day after she does her chunks. No long essays, just one sentence. Lila’s first text was “the main character just spent 2 pages describing his grandma’s rose bush. I’m dying.” Mia texted back “wait I’m there too, why is this necessary?” Suddenly, the boring book became something they could complain about together, and Lila found herself looking forward to reading the next chunk just so she’d have something new to rant about.
When she hit a 15-page section about the town’s founding that was just all dates and dry land descriptions, she came to me ready to quit. I told her it’s okay. You don’t have to read every single word to get what the book is about. Read the first page, read the last page of the section, then check a summary on a reputable study site to get the key points, then move on. The point of summer reading isn’t to torture you over boring description, it’s to get you thinking about the big ideas of the book. She did that, didn’t lose anything, and kept going.
Last week, I was hanging laundry on the line out front, and I looked over at the porch swing. Lila had finished her 12 minutes, but she didn’t get up to get her phone. She just kept turning pages. She looked up after a minute and said, “This part where they argue about the mill is actually not that bad.” It didn’t turn into her new favorite book. She still complains about it every other day, says it’s still boring more often than not. But she’s keeping up. She’s got 40 pages left as of this morning, and she’ll finish a full week before school starts.
The thing I’ve realized, both from my own experience and from helping Lila, is that forcing yourself to read something boring doesn’t work the way people think it does. You don’t need a ton of willpower or a great work ethic. You just need to make the chore small enough that you don’t have to fight yourself to do it. It’s not about loving the book, it’s just about getting through it, and that’s okay. Some reading is just work, and that doesn’t mean you’re bad at reading or you don’t like books. It just means this particular book is boring, right now, and that’s fine.
Right now, this system is working. Lila’s still going to complain when she gets her next summer reading assignment next year, I’m sure. But we’ve got a starting point, and that’s more than I had when I was her age.
Please indicate: Thinking In Educating » How to Force Yourself to Read Boring Required Summer Reading: Practical Tips for Students