Me: I have to blog about anticipation at The Debutante Ball this week.
Me: *ignores snickering* So, how would you say I handle anticipation?
TG: You’re kidding, right? Ha-ha-ha-ha!
Um, yeah. Anticipation is a double-edged sword. And both edges slice right through me.
Okay, okay…maybe that’s a little harsh. I’m sure, given enough time, I could think of something good about anticipation. Something that doesn’t smack of worry and dread and unbearable anxiety about possible outcomes. Just give me a second…
*think, think, think…crickets…think, think, think*
Uh…sorry. I got nothin’.
Look, I truly wish I could appreciate anticipation. That I could learn to love the adrenaline. The heightened sense of excitement. The teasing caress of butterflies in the stomach before a major event.
But I don’t get butterflies. I get raptors. Hawks and eagles and vultures. Any pleasant tickling from the feathers is wiped out by sharp beaks and slashing claws. By the time In A Fix is released next summer I may be all smiles on the outside, but on the inside? Yeah, you and I will know what’s really going on:
Sadly, it’s not just about the big things, either. I’ve been known to eat dessert before dinner because I can’t give the lasagna (no matter how luscious it is) the attention it deserves if my mind is being invaded by visions of the delectable confection to come. Naturally, this can get awkward if we’re dining at someone else’s house. I try to circumvent the situation by offering to bring dessert, and making sure it’s something mediocre, so I won’t be tempted. (Which isn’t tough to do if I make it myself. The kitchen is not my friend.)
Now, I know what you’re probably thinking. Admit it — you’re imagining how thrilled TG must have been when he came to pick me up for our first date and I said, “Can we just go to bed right now, so I can calm down and enjoy the movie?” Heh-heh. He wishes. You’ll have to imagine it, because it didn’t happen that way. Sorry, but there are limits to my impatience.
But here’s the real biggie. The confession that may get me blasted out of cyberspace by authors and readers alike:
*clears throat, begins bravely* I sometimes — okay, often — *lowers voice* read the end of a book first.
I KNOW! Sacrilege, huh? Sorry, but I can’t help myself. Honestly, though, spoilers don’t ruin a book for me. Knowing how a book ends allows me to relax and be thoroughly entertained by the reading journey, unencumbered by the crushing anxiety about what the heck is going to happen!
Seriously. It’s not that I’m a big, whiny, impatient baby. It’s that knowing the end improves my focus.
Plus, if I don’t happen to like the ending, I don’t have to read the whole book. I mean, there isn’t enough time in the day to read everything I want to read anyway, so why waste it reading something that will ultimately disappoint me?
Dare I ask how you feel about this controversial topic? Do you sometime sneak a peek? Or do you rein in your curiosity and enjoy the
torture of waiting anticipation?
*dons helmet and prepares for fallout*
P.S. Don’t forget to hover your cursor over the pics for added (somewhat lame) commentary.