Now then. You may have noticed that I read a lot of books. Not quite so many as some, but significantly more than others.
And you may also have noticed that I like telling you about the books that I’ve read, either here or on Twitter or Facebook. Or, if you’re particularly unlucky, in real life.
I tend to get quite excitable about books I love, especially after a beer or two. If I’ve seen you in a pub over the past couple of years and have raved at you about a book (or two), then you’ll know exactly what I mean.
I *love* talking about books. Especially the books I love.
Sometimes I even like talking about the books I didn’t quite love so much (yeah, the killer mermaid one. Though I know of at least three people who’ve gone on to buy a copy based on me getting very over-excited about what exactly was wrong with the killer mermaid book)
Over the past couple of months there have been several occasions where I’ve been chatting with someone and they’ve paused and said
“I’m *so* sorry…”
“I have a bit of a confession to make…”
They didn’t like the book. The book that I loved, and talked about so much. The book that I’d recommended so hard that they’d gone and bought it.
Please, don’t ever feel you have to apologise for not liking a book, especially to me.
A book is a personal thing. You either dig it, or you don’t. A ton of people absolutely loved that killer mermaid book. More power to them, I say.
I feel it should be me apologising to you, for pimping a book at you so hard that you spent your hard-earned cash on it but didn’t love it!
Right, that’s cleared that up. Now, back to the books…