What’s this musing about: The eternal challenge of picking which book to read next.
We all know that euphoric feeling when you finish your latest book. The feeling of accomplishment, the ego boost for sticking with it, and maybe even a little bit of lamentation when it was really good.
Then comes the dreaded question. Well, what next?
As a book addict (current number of books I own: 537, so try and argue with me), it can be a bit of a (first world) challenge. I’ll have a couple hundred of choices and depending on the length, my choice could end up being a time commitment of a few weeks. That’s a lot of pressure. It doesn’t help that I refuse to not finish a book no matter how bad it is.
Another weird quirk I have is the need to jump time periods between books. While I love the American Revolution, I would inevitably get bored if I only read about that time period. The bigger the time jump, the better.
And then my book OCD/nerdom kicks in. Is anything “calling” to me at that particular point in time? No, not literally. The books do not talk to me. I’m not that type of crazy.
Then, I take into account book length. Chernow is awesome, but you need to be in the mood to really dig in. It’s like Guiness. I love it, but I can’t drink a Guiness on a warm summer day.
And so, I will continue my eternal struggle.
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