On finishing a book
Have you ever found yourself nearing the end of a book and both wanting to race to the end and discover the truth of the mystery or the romance and simultaneously wishing it went on for a few more pages? When you finish a book, do you feel lost?
Sometimes I do. After finishing and finding myself lost for what to read next, I search my TBR stack and wonder if the next pick will be as satisfying. I long ago gave myself permission to not finish a book. If it’s not to my taste, it’s closed and done. If I sort of like it, I might continue on hoping it gets more intriguing. If It’s just spinning it’s wheels, is in danger of becoming a book where hero and heroine are going to butt heads with no hint of resolution, if they “hurry here, hurry there” and never get where they’re going, I might turn to the end and read the final chapter or two. At that point, I may be asking myself, this was published?
I have this habit when I close a book on the bookmark (usually a sales receipt or a torn piece of newspaper, never mind I have REAL bookmarks) I look at the top and study how far I’ve read. Just started? A quarter of the way? Half? Almost there? I don’t know why I do it. Gauging my progress, perhaps?
I’ve always loved to read. I would see my dad sitting at the end of the living room couch reading a biography or history, usually of World War II. My mother read magazines, True Romance and True Confessions and True Story. So if one can say one grew up in a household of readers, I guess I did.
I finished a book last night and now have to search my shelves or head to the library. I like to hold a book. Marching my way through an ebook doesn’t give me the sense of where I am in it. See the above paragraph.
So now I’m on the hunt for my next read, the next reason to prop my pillow against the headboard and try to stave off sleep for just one more chapter
