A Confession to Make

I don’t like reading novels. Yep, that’s the truth. I don’t like novels.

But you’re a novel writer, you’ll say. And yes, I am. But does it always follow? That a novel writer likes to read novels?

I am a novel writer who does not like to read novels.

How bad is that?

I think, novel writers don’t like reading novels. That’s just a theory, though.

The books that I read are more of informative, like ones that give me academic learning, if you know what I mean. News, articles, blogs, books without a plot. Because I know they are all somewhat true, and that a day always end. An article has to end. A news has to end. A blog has to end. And I know that tomorrow, there will be another blog, another news, another article.

Reading a novel was different.

I refuse reading novels because I find it heartbreaking that after experiencing the morphine of reading, I know that there’s an end to it. Others find it easy to pick another one, read and be happy again, but I’m not like that. I don’t like that. It’s like finding a new partner after a fresh break-up.

Reading a novel is close to having James by my side, that’s the truth, but I avoid that and deny that. I’ve read a hundred, but only a few pinched my heart. If I were a novel, that will hurt. I mean…novels like it if they have hurt their reader, I think.

Or maybe, this is just because I finished a book in one sitting, and I felt more pain than happiness–pain that it had to end, pain that tomorrow is another regular day.

The problem with reading a really good book is that you wish you had no other priorities, and you wish you can abandon them, drop everything and read that book. But as soon as you finish reading, you wish you had more things to do so it would take you longer to finish the book.

The problem with a really good book is that it ends. That sucks.

This is how I felt after finishing The Little Prince, although that was incomparable. Like it had been inside my system, controlling me for over years until now.

And this is the confession I had to make. I don’t like reading novels because for one, I know how it is to be an author. The worst you can ever tell me is not how bad my story is, but that you have forgotten about what the story was about. Another, I can feel what a novel feels. Oh my god, this author is a lunatic! You might say, but I’m always that person who puts myself into others’ shoes. And even when novels don’t have shoes, I can imagine their pain.

“You like me?” Novel said as it caressed my cheek. “Read me again.”

I smiled and put it down. “Yes, but I’m done with you; I’ll go get a new one.”

I hate reading novels because I’m scared to love them too much.

I like reading, just so you know. But again, I read articles, news, blogs and books without a plot. A novel is entirely different. That’s why I make my own…because they don’t end for me. I have their future in my mind.

As for other novels, they don’t. They end on the cover.

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