When I pick up a new book to read, I give it a chance of 20 pages. Well, 25, if I'm feeling particularly charitable. I used to force myself to read through books I didn't like to the very end. I don't anymore. And I have noticed that on particular occasions this 20 pages number shrinks to 10, or even 5. Or sometimes... ::gasp:: ...I put a book aside after glancing at the first paragraph.
I'm probably a despicable asshole whose moral compass has gone awry, but I feel increasingly like life is too short, and I'm not willing to waste it on bad art. See, I told you I'm an asshole. I try to appear nice, though, and convince myself that every book is brilliant because it was at least therapeutic to the one who wrote it, and there is a book for everyone out there, and no one book is ever perfect for everyone at once. And yet...
I HAVE THESE AWFUL THOUGHTS THAT SOME WRITERS JUST DON'T TRY HARD ENOUGH.
Hey, I think my early books are shit and I'm astounded that people read them. I'm already far ahead, I'm better! Or so I hope. Because of course I'm not, I have years and years of work ahead of me.
Why am I telling you these secret thoughts? I don't know. I guess I'm a book snob and want to meet other book snobs. And I'm a total dick. But don't tell anyone, okay?