I don’t think I read more than the average person, at least not in the kind of shocking way that would cause your dinner guests to project forced surprise into an uncomfortable exclamation along the lines of, “Oh my gosh that is so impressive! How do you find the time?!” But I do enjoy the occasional novel, the occasional sad tale, the coming-of-age stories that somehow never feel repetitive in my mind, and the latest well-cited non-fiction about some obscure topic that is so wonderfully contrived it’s hard not to enjoy.
I Think I'm Reading Too Much
I Think I'm Reading Too Much
I Think I'm Reading Too Much
I don’t think I read more than the average person, at least not in the kind of shocking way that would cause your dinner guests to project forced surprise into an uncomfortable exclamation along the lines of, “Oh my gosh that is so impressive! How do you find the time?!” But I do enjoy the occasional novel, the occasional sad tale, the coming-of-age stories that somehow never feel repetitive in my mind, and the latest well-cited non-fiction about some obscure topic that is so wonderfully contrived it’s hard not to enjoy.