i just finished up the short story patrick rothfuss wrote for a collection by george rr martin, which means i am once again rothfuss-less. i just read 2000+ pages and now i’m wallowing in book grief.
this is part of the reason i’m avoiding reading harry potter again – there is so much a person gets invested in in a series like that, and when it’s over, it’s such a loss. i’m friendless, storyless, worldless.
this is not to say i won’t pick them up again. if that were the case, i’d never read again. to take the time out of your day to visit a world not your own, a life not your own, and recreate it with your own scenes is something pretty incredible. i really do feel sorry for those people who watched the HP movies before reading the books. or any books, really. to experience those stories with your own imagination is a pretty powerful thing. (it’s also a huge disappointment when it hits the big screen and the scenes play out nothing like you’d expected.)
rothfuss had his books optioned for a film/tv adaptation, and i’m scared outta my pants, one for the adaptation itself and two because how will this dent his time with book 3? (i know; i know. that’s the selfish side of me.)
but there are always more books. so i’ll keep on reading.