Picky, PIcky, Picky

A friend told me yesterday that I have become a picky reader, and she's right. I've admitted as much in former posts. She, on the other hand, when asked what kind of books she likes, will ask in return, "Do they have words?" and then, "Are they in English?" Two affirmatives are enough to satisfy her.

Another friend in the industry often commiserates with me on the perils of examining the books we read. As writer and reviewer, the two of us find that we can't just relax and enjoy a book these days. The mind begins dissecting the plot, the characterization, the chosen storytelling method, and the writing style. And we want it all wrapped up in a neat package. While others wax eloquent on the charming description or the fascinating protagonist, I wonder why she didn't get some sort of negative vibe from living twenty years with a multiple murderer at the family picnics.

Do I realize that others like me are likely to mentally slice up my work the way I do when I read? Of course. It isn't likely that everyone is going to love every author, or even every work by a given author. I just hope there are a lot more readers in the world like the friend who calls me "picky", because my books do have words in them, and so far, at least, they're all in English.