As writers, we treasure words more than most. Writing is our religion and books our sacred relics. We know the long hours and piercing self-doubt that go into creating something from nothing. We understand the depth of the author’s commitment to the task of slowly putting one word after another. We have respect for the craft, the process, and the finished product.
Perhaps it is this blind devotion to all things literary and wordish that makes us more susceptible to the guilt of abandoning a book without finishing it.
Have you felt that guilt – that awful remorse that settles around your shoulders when you just can’t read another page?
I have. In fact, I recently abandoned not one, but two books in a single week. The first was a Hobbit-inspired non-fiction work that I hoped would be a charming bedside reader, but which turned out to be a…
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