quarternotes

Just the other day, I looked for this book inside my drawer. It's still new - all shrink wrapped and, with a price tag. I actually bought it last year and swore to myself that I wouldn't open it unless I finish the current book I was reading back then... Well, obviously, it took SOME time; say a year? Until finally, I peeled its shrink wrap and neatly covered it with a plastic cover scrap from my brothers' stack. I got my usual stamp and marked the book mine.

I read the first few sentences of the Preface. Somehow, the excitement of getting in to another world faded within seconds. Was it the story? Was it the author? Was it how is was written? Or was it just me curling up, refusing to keep an open mind. A friend told me yesterday that to be creative, one should always allow himself or herself to expand his or her horizon... keep on pushing until one reaches the verge of insanity. For me it's the same principle. Getting lost in the world the author created. Falling in love with every word, every character, every emotion... allowing them to touch your own living character.

But this particular book? It's just not lighting up. I'm giving it a few pages more, say, the first three chapters? Should I abandon yet another lover? I've done it once, or twice maybe... I can do it again.

So after a year of anticipating to flip a page of this book, I ask myself... Was it worth the wait?