I solemnly do swear that next time I buy a book (or books), I shall be very, very careful in picking. The reason? Every book I pick off the shelf in a shopping whim (yes, I do shop in a whim, but more of that later) I find myself uncannily stuck inside it.
The first book was Gail Carriger's Soulless. The main attraction was the rather unmissable title and the model on the cover. Both encouraged me to pick it up and start for the counter line. For the next three hours, I found myself inevitably stuck to the pages, tearing through the paragraphs. I sealed my own fate by doing something so impulsive, and liking every second of it.
A few weeks ago I went to a bookstore. It was past closing time, and I have yet to select a title. I wanted something that I could read for leisure. And there they were, two books with a very sleek assassin standing within both of its cover. Then the closing announcement began. Throwing caution to the wind, I picked up book 1 and 2, and made it to the counter, trying to ignore that spiraling feeling inside my stomach.
The next day, I began reading. And reading. And was unable to stop reading.
Were the books a good choice? No. Why?
Because they made me want more! Oh, Brent Weeks, I am begging you to write more! Please!!!