I’ve noticed more and more often in recent times that as I’ve pushed on through the years I have become increasingly lacking in tolerance and forbearance whenever I find myself reading a book that has turned out not to be what I was expecting.
Once upon a time it was a seriously rare occurrence for me to give a book the old heave-ho before I’d finished reading it. For one thing, I hated the thought that I had wasted my money! As a result, I tended to plough on doggedly until the end, then complain I hadn’t enjoyed it.
Now, however, I view my remaining days as being too valuable to expend them in such a manner. Book not up to scratch? Dump it. Book not what I was expecting? Dump it? Find myself falling asleep every time I get a page or two into the book? Dump it.
In fact, things seem to have moved on to a whole new level this year, as I have already given up on four novels and one non-fiction book. It seems I may end up setting some sort of new record for myself.
Of course, there is a flip side to all this and I have wondered how many times a reader has resorted to the same course of action with any of my books. But that’s just a silly thought because they wouldn’t do that, would they?
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