I’ve been sidelined by the flu and complications for the last bunch of weeks so I’ve had plenty of time when I could have been reading. My to-be-read pile didn’t fit the bill, though.
Even when I am well, though, I am a picky reader. I don’t want to read about improbable people or improbable plots. And I no longer read through a book to see if it will get better.
So this week, when I read a synopsis for a book that boasted that it was hard going for the first thirty pages, I couldn’t believe it. The author seemed proud of the fact, as though that made the book somehow more profound.
I don’t think so.
As a writer, I slave over those first pages trying to fit in all the things like place, time, character, and plot and make it seem fresh and clear. I want to draw the reader in with those pages and make the world I am creating one the reader wants to stay in.
Profound is not something I strive for.