Today's blog post was going to be about finally wrangling that (currently) most stubborn of stubborn short stories into shape. Unfortunately, today involved illness, and the story didn't get any less stubborn by my putting it aside in favour of sleep, so I am unable to report as planned.
I can tell you that daytime soaps have not changed since the last time I snoozed through them. I'm betting this won't come as a surprise to anyone.
Instead I will share with you that today, I did something astonishing: I decided to not finish a book that I'm not enjoying.1 I don't know why I'm compelled to read a book through to completion regardless of how much I dislike it. Is it stubbornness? Is it a perverse streak? Is it hope that the book may, just may, turn itself around and do something brilliant? Is it guilt, that the author will find out and I'll break their heart?
Whatever the reason, I begin to suspect there are better uses for my time. So here goes to a new me, a me who can put a book down partway through.
- Um, this is probably not a great time to admit that I haven't actually removed the bookmark. But I will. I'm pretty sure I will. [↩]