One Book Down

I just finished reading "The Royal Assassin" by Robin Hobb, and I realized a terrible thing: it was the first book I had finished in 2026.  It is March, and I have only read one book.*

There was a Saturday Night Live sketch years ago of a game show called "What Have You Become?" where the host (I think it was the German actor from Bond and INGLORIOUS BASTERDS) would ask each contestant, "What have you become?" and they would realize they had had all these aspirations, all these dreams they had once pursued, and now . . . they were nothing.  They break down in despair, then he moves on to the next contestant.  It was not a brilliant sketch (I vaguely remember the last contestant, who was actually happy being a stay-at-home mom asking the host what he had become, and he reacts the same way.

But dude, what have I become?  My sweetest friend.

I like to read, very much, and I work . . . holy R.I.P. Jennifer Runyon, in a bloody library.  But I don't ever do it, or hardly ever.  I probably read as much as I write, and you know how good at that I am.

I heard the other day that writer Dan Simmons had died, and I told myself, "I ought to read The Terror again sometime."  But at the rate I'm going, that will never happen.  I never make the time to read new books, much less books I've already read.  

And last year, I told my buddy Jeff about "Dungeon Crawler Carl" when I was reading it, and he read all seven books in the series before I had even finished that first one.**

I guess it's not too late to try to do better--and I do tend to read for an hour or two every time I go to the cabin in the summer--but I suspect this is the worst year on record for me and reading. That being said, I just checked out a book at the library (a 350 page T. Kingfisher book), and I will do the best I can to get it finished in less than three months.  Maybe even two.