Crack cocaine. That’s what my daughter gave me for Christmas. It came in the form of The Way of Kings, the first in a new series by Brandon Sanderson. (If you’re a complete closet dork, like me, you’ll recognize him as the guy who’s finishing the Wheel of Time series for the unfortunately dead Robert Jordan.)

The Way of Kings has 1008 pages. ONE THOUSAND AND EIGHT. Who writes a book with 1008 pages?

So I said to myself: I won’t read it. Not until I’ve finished all my current writing projects.

That lasted 48 hours. And then I thought: I’ll only read the first chapter.

That lasted about eight minutes.

Did I mention crack cocaine? Yes. I spent several (several) days compulsively reading The Way of Kings. It was spectacular, if you’re um… into that sort of thing.

Still, I was determined to be good. I wouldn’t read the sequel, I decided. Not until next Christmas at least. And a few minutes later, I decided just to check on-line, to see what the sequel was called.

Well, it’s not available yet. It’s not available until next fall. And The Way of Kings is not the first in a trilogy. Oh, no. It’s the first in a TEN BOOK SERIES. So, if it takes two years to produce each book, I will be 58 years old before I finish the story. FIFTY-EIGHT YEARS OLD!

I’m not reading them. Seriously. I’m not.