On occasion, I have chosen to avoid reading a particular book because I was hesitant about what people might think of me for reading it. When I first read Stephen King’s “It”, the cover at the time was a fairly nondescript cover which didn’t give much away: it was simply an image of a storm drain with a distinctly reptilian hand reaching out towards a paper boat bobbing in the gutter. Ominous, yes; but not as scary as some of the newer covers I’ve seen – especially the one with Tim Curry’s sinister clown-face and shocking red hair.
Recently, I heard from a friend who bought a Kindle Fire a few months ago. At the time, I had asked him to remember me with some feedback about his experience with the device. And that feedback was not good at all. Aside from the fact that his device died soon after receiving it, he comments that the device “usability was stripped to almost nothing for international users, there was poor application functionality, and multiple interface glitches.” It wasn’t the first time I had heard negative feedback from a friend regarding the Kindle Fire. Another friend had much
I have a favorite author. Even when I say that I don’t because I like styles and genres more than I might like a particular person’s writing, it’s not true. I discovered this about myself in the last few weeks as I picked up Stephen King’s On Writing again. This time I am reading it and digesting it in small savory bites instead of in one big gulp. I am learning to slow down and savor rather than feed my need for instant gratification. It’s a slow and painful process because instant gratification is the very basis of