That idea is just so alien to me, but I guess we are all different. Maybe it boils down to some weird antiquated notion that REAL men don’t read books or something. I don’t know.

It’s completely alright to mourn when something good or potentially good goes awry.

I guess I should have known.

I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone say it like that. It’s always more along the lines of "Oh, you like to read? Man, I don’t think I’ve read a book for fun since high school. I should get back into it. It’s so cool that you can just lose yourself in a book like that. That’s a rare skill, you should consider yourself lucky. "

What I’m taking away from this post and comment section is “if you’re a writer, just tell the story you want to tell. Even amazing writers and storytellers have people who just can’t enjoy their stuff.”

What I’m taking away from this post and comment section is “if you’re a writer, just tell the story you want to tell. Even amazing writers and storytellers have people who just can’t enjoy their stuff.”

Found family. More specifically an adult taking in a child who’s never had anything good happen to them and finally treating them as a person, giving the child all the love and care they always deserved.

I don’t care if it’s played out, infantilizing, cliché or unrealistic. It makes me feel warm and nice and I like it, dammit.

Also yes I did recently read Les Misérables, how did you know?

I’m not sure since I would have been very, very young, probably around the age of 7 or 8, but I’d say The Deltora Quest by Emily Rodda/Jennifer Rowe is probably the most likely answer, soon followed by The Hobbit and LOTR.

Same. If it’s something I want to read, whether for pure fun or because it’s something I personally want to know about (think something like Les Misérables or the Iliad; they could be tough at times, but I kept going because I wanted to get the original story straight from the source instead of always relying on adaptations or secondary sources) I can always get something of value out of it. However, if someone sat me down with something I had absolutely no interest in, it wouldn’t happen.

And Then There Were None by Agatha Christie. About a year ago I was in a total reading slump and couldn’t finish a book for the life of me. Then I picked this one up at the local bookstore (obviously I knew about it beforehand but had never gotten around to actually reading it) and devoured it within 24 hours.