Heaven, and books.

BooksBeing in the middle of a good book is the best. You never want to put it down and the plot becomes the story of your own life. It starts before the middle – You get a book based on whim or recommendation; you think it will be pretty good. You’re about two pages or so in, and it hits you; this book frikkin rocks your socks. Your socks have not been knocked off yet, but you know it’s gonna happen. You are going to be the person that recommends this book to everyone you know and profess to convert the the author’s religion, should he start one.

The book eats you up with all your senses. Especially if it’s a scratch and sniff book. You can’t put it down and you curse the times you have to stop reading. For me, it’s the train. An hour of reading and being lost in the author’s world. It’s probably even visible on your face. A character hurts, it hurts you. The book (and time) fly by and nothing else matters. It’s addictive; you NEED to know what happens next. Anybody that stands in your way is held in the greatest contempt. You start to feel the right side of the book shrink and you panic, as you realize that the book is not growing as much or as quickly as your interest.

Upon occasion, the last chapter is labeled as such. I need time to prepare for the end. No matter how spectacular the ending, you hate that it’s over. I usually need more. I want a sequel waiting to take over exactly where the first book left off. I want the author reading to me as he writes. Cost be damned, as long as it’s free.

The worst is a bad, unsatisfying conclusion where loose ends aren’t tied up and the end brings you no closure. Whether the end is good or not, if the book has gripped you so, for the hours, days, or weeks, you were engrossed in its existence. Sometimes, at the end, you are left with that feeling of dropping to your knees and screaming NOOOOOO!!!! until you are out of breath, or until you realize you are kneeling on the floor screaming obscenities in a packed subway car.

After convincing your fellow passengers you aren’t about to holler a name of a Deity and push an improvised trigger of some sort, make up a name of some sort of disease to explain your outburst. Getting off at the next stop is probably wise. Head straight to your nearest bookseller and find another book that made you feel as good as the past one.

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