Nothing convinced me more of my addiction than going one week without reading a novel.
I took a week off from reading to focus on editing. I didn’t want any distractions or temptations. The oh-I’ll-just-read-one-more-chapter promises…then four hours later.
Husband already thinks I read too much.
Bubbles says frequently, and with quite derision, “you’re reading? Again!?” (Sometimes I wonder if she was switched at birth.)
Is there such a thing as reading too much? I don’t think so. Actually I think I can read more.
By the middle of my week long persecution, I almost convinced myself that my Goodreads’ friends were worried. They’re used to frequent—DAILY!!—updates to my “currently reading” status.
Okay, that’s complete bullshit. No one, except me, cares about my reading status, but certainly reading one itty bitty romance wouldn’t have derailed me.
I’ll just read five pages. Unless, of course, it ends on a cliffhanger, then I must continue reading so I can focus solely on editing. So I’ll just read one chapter. Five max.
I didn’t give in despite my best efforts to convince myself otherwise.
It was the longest week of my life.
But I made it. Of course as soon as I sent the corrections to my editor, I raced upstairs, pulled the top book from my TBR pile, flopped in a chair, and—
Have you ever had to force yourself not to read so you can get something done? How did you handle the withdrawals?