I don’t read holiday-themed books. Not Christmas, not Valentine’s Day, not Halloween. I don’t read them.
There. I said it. Now I need to qualify it with…
I don’t read holiday books, but I have in the past. I don’t go out of my way to avoid them, I don’t think “Oh noes! Da Plague!” when I see them, and I’ll even read one if you give them to me. Probably. But I really, really don’t go out of my way to find them or read them.
I’m not sure what it is, exactly, that puts my book attraction on ice when it comes to holiday-themed books. I’ve read some, and some of the ones I’ve read were good. Still, they just don’t really jive to me.
The writer in me could be making a stand with this. Perhaps my inner creative self feels like the authors are writing for the holiday rather than any sort of ‘just because I love writing’ pleasure. But that doesn’t really hold up because I’m sure plenty of the authors who have penned holiday books did so because they loved writing and the holiday just happened to inspire them.
Maybe it’s the forced ‘I’m so happy and I love everybody’ feelings that usually serve to piss me off more than anything else that present the problem. I don’t want that sort of thing to invade my reading time. (No, I’m not a scrouge – I’m just not into fakey fakey ‘you’re a wonderful person, you jackass’ smiling stuff just because it’s the holidays.) That seems like it could be a definite reason.
No matter what it is, it all grinds down to this: If you want to get me books for Christmas (or any holiday), don’t get me holiday-themed books. Or give them to me early because it’s no fun sitting down to read about Christmas when that’s done and I’m gearing up for New Year’s.




