Sunday, December 15, 2013
Reading frustration
I’ve been a voracious reader all my life - and a relatively fast reader. Up until about the last 10+ years. It’s been taking me weeks to read a mystery by any one of my favorite writers. I still have to have a book going, even though I may only read a few pages while I’m eating my lunch or right before I go to sleep, but still…
And I seem to find it easier to read nonfiction than fiction. Does that make sense?
It’s frustrating and discouraging.
So imagine my delight to find that I finished one novel, Orphan Train, by Christina Baker Kline, in a couple of weeks. And, in the two days since I’ve finished that, I’m well into Sycamore Row, John Grisham’s latest.
Hooray! Does this mean the bookworm has turned? Who knows? And I don’t care. I’ll just enjoy it while it lasts.
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1 comment:
I used to blame myself when I got stuck in a book. Then I realized that it was the quality of the writing, not my eyes or my attention span or anything else.
I have little patience with careless writing. (There was a photo in last week's paper of a gibbous moon. I figured that out after searching for the crescent described in the caption. Evidently someone doesn't know what a crescent is.)
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