BOOK ABUSE
The Confession of a Criminal
A “crime” I got away with
To be very open, which is pretty much consistent with my style, I was always more of a reader than a writer, but at the same time something in between. Neither one nor the other was done right, so I ended up wasting both.
Yet I was obsessed with reading something, anything, just to read and occupy my mind in times of boredom. The problem is that, as a kid, I didn’t like something very deep. Most kids don’t, right? But it kinda stuck with me in early adulthood.
I started with magazines and newspapers. Then, as I grew up, I watched movies. Yes, that involved reading too. As non-English natives, we used subtitles.
Later on, I picked up comic books and even a few online action novels here and there. But real books, the real holy grail of knowledge and culture, were mostly ignored by me.
Don’t get me wrong, I read a few novels here and there. Shogun by James Clavell and Sherlock Holmes by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle are two of my favorites. But that happened much later and I still didn’t read as much as I should have.
I like to think I’m romantic, but I never liked the romantic genre in general. The same is true of a slice of life in a mundane setting. All these are better lived and are often…
