I’ve said before that I’m a reluctant short story reader (and I can see why you may think I protest too much, for I do read more short fiction than I honestly should for someone who claims to dislike it).  My biggest difficulty with it is that I always end up wanting more. 

I like to read in large time increments – settling down on a cold winter’s evening under a blanket, wiling away a Sunday afternoon, passing time on a long commute.   Short fiction tends to disrupt my flow, making me break the surface of reality too soon.  And since it doesn’t do justice to the next story to jump right in before you’ve digested the last one I’m often at a loss at to what to do when I’m finished.

So one would intelligently ask Why then are you reading essays? 

Good question.

The answer is twofold:   1) I LOVE Anne Fadiman – I would read a cereal box she composed and 2) I’ve recently found myself with only short snippets of time to read so essays fit just right.

Of course there is always the danger that when you are in transition from one essay (or story) to the next one that your interest will be stolen away by another, more time consuming endeavor.  Sadly such was the case for me this week.  I was taken against my will into Borders where I bought a dog book (aka my crack) and I’ve been reading that ever since.  I’ll get back to Anne in due time. 

She’s a good companion right before sleep sets in. Except when she makes me laugh too hard.

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