i have tried to read. oh, have i tried to read. it's been a long, frustrating path resulting in me nearly hating the internet. i have read enough. so much, in fact, that all of the voices on the internet have sort of morphed into one collective whine.
but one day, i stumbled upon a link to some free ebooks from barnes and noble's website. so i downloaded a few different genres.
and the one kind of book that can hold my attention?
romance novels.
when i was a teenager, i used to skim the plot and dog-ear the, ah... "romance" sections of these books. now it's the opposite. "yeah, yeah, heaving bosoms... whatever! but what happens when he finds out she's pregnant? is he going to divorce her, since their marriage was a sham in the first place? can't he see that she really loves him?!"
i actually cried many tears over a couple of romance novel characters this last week.
and that makes me sad. i can't stomach biographies, classics, or any of the other nonfiction i long to read. nope.
i can read romance novels. hopefully i can move on soon, but for now i am extremely invested in the likes of lord blakehurst and verity scott.
