OK, so I skipped last week. I am a bad writer. I’ll pay penance to the writer gods by…uh…sharpening a box of pencils…with my teeth!
But where was I last week? Why didn’t I have anything to say? Why else. Because of Bilbo freakin’ Baggins. Bane of my existence. Pain in my side. Gloomy cloud over my house of twigs.
BUT…after three weeks of dedicated slacking/reading, I’m proud to say that ol’ Kindle tells me I’m 20% through the book.
This is where I burst into hysterical tears and insist that the book is actually getting longer the more I read, and that there’s really no way to end it, short of throwing myself under a bus.
Or at an ogre or something.
Parts of the story aren’t awful. I will admit that much. Parts are charming-ish, or fairy tale-ish or even sort of interesting. The big problem I’m having is that overall, I’m not engaged. And that is a problem. Because USUALLY I'm a girl who can devour Harry Potter in a few hours. I can nom my way through thirty library books in two weeks. I read often, I read lots and I read really, really fast.
WHEN I’m interested.
Otherwise, I distract myself, daydream, re-read the same paragraph ten times and make up random scenes in my head (no joke: I had a whole scene where Bilbo went grocery shopping. I actually flipped back to make sure that didn’t happen. I mean, it didn’t SEEM right, but who knows. I think I may have dozed off for a few minutes and that’s what the ol’ brain cooked up).
So 20% in three weeks is pretty good.
No, it’s not.
But the thing is, I’m not willing to fail this challenge. I can’t. I’m very competitive and I don’t like losing. Especially when it’s something that should be SO easy. You’re not asking me to do math. You’re not asking me to sing opera. You’re asking me to read a book. A classic, even.
And I will. Next week, 40%. Also, next week I shall have a special craft to share with you all. Is it Hobbit-related? You can bet your furry little socks it is!
Stay tuned, keep believing I can do this, and for goodness’ sake, give me some encouragement. Even if it’s in the form of commiseration (misery DOES love company, after all). Tell me, nerdly wonders, has there ever been a book you just couldn’t get into?