As I've mentioned a number of times on this blog, books are a favorite item of mine. I've talked about my fascination with shopping for books, buying books, and owning books, but I've yet to mention how much I enjoy reading them. Buying and owning are pointless without using. You can buy racks and racks of clothing, but if you don't wear them, you'll be thrown in jail for indecent exposure (which will give you plenty of time to read a book.)
It often take me a few chapters to really get into a book. I've put down and never finished many, many books because they sparked but never combusted. But once I'm sucked in, I'm in for good. I hate putting the book down, and generally charge head-long for the finish as quickly as possible. But the funny thing is my sprint for the finish has a two-prong reason. One is obvious. I'm into the story and want to know how it plays out. But I'm also at that point thinking about the next book I want to read, and I find myself wanting to finish my current book so I can move on.
I'm like a serial lover of books in that way. I fall in love with a book, which makes me fall in love with falling in love with books, which leads me to think about other books and how great it would be to fall in love and read those books. Once I'm in that mode I can devour book after book, a cycle that finally ends when I hit a book that just doesn't measure up. I lose interest, in that moment, not just with that particular story, but with reading in general. It sometimes takes a few months before I find a book that starts the cycle over again.
Thankfully I have a lot of books to serve as kindling.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment