Reading Novels

Reading novels is really not my cup of tea. Well, it’s a half-truth confession. I had indulged in the past eight thousand seven hundred sixty days of my life, once in a while, perhaps not more than a hundred books in total. It all depended on the mood and the story–not so much of an author. For some reason, I couldn’t stand the agony of a thrill which forced me to exert efforts to match my supposition with the writer’s clever plot and interesting sequel. And so flipping pages till the end not missing any paragraph just to find out what is there awaits to expect–whether or not it is a satisfying twist. Most of the time I gave up, but not this time.

Had finished reading a thirty-seven-chapter novel early tonight. It was another one in a month, but browsing through the book seemed forever. Thought I could gulped it down in just a day. It took me two days instead. Glad it was worth the persistence. Why this book? Because it is the only pleasurable left to read–the rest I already took advantage of these previous months. Lastly, I’m fast and impatient reader, and reading novels takes a lot of energy and time too. Of course, if I had another choice, I won’t hesitate to leave this one unread for the time being. It didn’t happen this way but let this book, "The Couple Next Door", engulfed me interestingly, unresistant. I am not faking it though, I did enjoy it. Recommended.