I have a problem. Fiction can consume me.
There’s been two main thoughts going through my mind the last week. What has to be done (feeding kids, house chores, sleep, school) and what can be sacrificed to allow a complete book binge. I try very hard to moderate this addiction to the fictional world. Usually that works pretty well, but every so often, I spiral out of control. I mean allow my children to play Wii all day, no baths, junk food for breakfast, lunch and dinner out of control.
I do pretty well if I can locate a book that is not a part of a series. The longer the series, the more I’m trapped in it. For a single book I can usually minimize the damage by consuming it in one crazy day (or night). Give me a 3 or 4 part series…well, I’m on damage control since it requires at least a day for each.
The last week (maybe closer to two) I’ve hopped between two 4 book series. Both I’ve read before. Ahem. Twice. You would rationally think the power of the written word to transport me to Forks, Washington and the fantasy land of Lothion would be negligible. Not so. It still consumes me like an Alabama vs Auburn game consumes its fans. Unfortunately, reading is not a social event like a good rivalry football game. Perhaps that is why I love it so much, since it calls to my sense of adventure in a very introvert way. An oxymoron, I know. Yet isn’t that what fiction is in many ways? An adventure where you never have to risk anything?
I see the light at the end of this tunnel. Book 4 is ready to be devoured and fortunately (or unfortunately) Book 5 has not yet been released. My nose will be out of my books very soon. Until next time.