Home > Uncategorized > Maybe I’m afraid of non-committment?

Maybe I’m afraid of non-committment?

I find it extremely difficult to read short stories, and I don’t know why. I routinely read novels, the occasional novella, entire memoirs constructed of essays and vignettes, and tracts and tracts of non-fiction. But the short stories from The New Yorker that my father so thoughtfully photocopies and leaves for me are invariably (and guiltily) thrown in the trash.

I can even read long, horribly written trade paperbacks (the unabridged version of The Stand runs roughly ten billion pages long), but I cannot force myself to read elegant gems such as those included in “Lucky Girls” or “Twilight of the Superheroes.”

What gives? A single 7-page story by Jeannette Winterson is surely more satisfying than “The Infected” by Scott Sigler (which, by the way, you call that an ending???). And yet I’ll invest the extra time reading Sigler over Winterson, all the while chafing at his clunky prose.

I need the opposite of Adderall.

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