*I have stolen this phrase from my good friend Kim. She’s writing a book which I’m hoping won’t smack me around too much.
I have several books that I am afraid to open. I’m not afraid of bad writing. I’m not worried that I will get sucked into a new world and not get anything done- my family is used to that. I am afraid of getting into an emotionally abusive relationship with the book.
I’m worried about getting sucked into an amazing world and not being able to leave, even though I am pissed, scared, or crying my eyes out.
Good writing is like a tight pair of jeans and a black leather jacket on a fine body.
Unless I dislike the book, I can’t/won’t put it down. I will continue to read and even read the sequels. I don’t know why I pick up the next one; maybe it’s the vain and pathetic hope that this time the author won’t rip my heart out and stomp all over it.
I will rant and rave, driving my husband nuts, until he bans me from reading more just so I will regain some semblance of “emotionally sane.”
“No,” I cry out at the very thought of not reading more, even knowing it’s going to hurt and leave me feeling shaky.
So instead, I try to not begin reading them. I try to not even buy them, but eventually someone will give me one. Game of Thrones, which is currently taunting me, I got free at Comic Con. I know I’ll love it, let it take me over, and it will beat me up, leaving me black and blue and turning the page with trembling fingers.
So far I have resisted, but I know I won’t last much longer.
Do you read emotionally abusive books? Do you hide from them or jump right into them with tissues and bruise cream in hand?