I think I'm suffering from post-Potter depression.
I was so excited to read the new Harry Potter book. I know the characters like I know my friends and family. Reading the next book in the series is like catching up with the people I love. It's important to me how their lives are going.
I want to know what has happened since we last spent time together. I want to make sure Harry is OK and I want to know what he's learning in school. I need to know what Voldemort is up to and draw my own conclusions about the motives of Snape and Malfoy.
I, of course, read the book as fast as I could. Any spare time I had, I spent it with Harry, Hermione, Ron and the rest. It was too good and over too fast but as much as I wanted to read it all, I hated to see it end. It's a long wait until the next book comes out. What will happen between now and that future day we meet again within the pages?
When I finish reading a good book, I always feel a reluctance to start a new one. I don't know if it's going to be as good, I'm not really ready to get wrapped up in the lives of any new characters, and I somehow feel like an unfaithful lout to go off and read something new.
I can't just stop reading, though. No matter how good a book might have been, or if the ending was something I didn't expect, or even if I suspect there might be another story yet to come, this tale has ended and I have to move on. It's time to close up the old book, put it on the shelf, and open the pages on something new.
This is not an easy task. Each new tome I take into my hands gets compared to the last great book I read. Do I even want to try again? How can it possibly be as good? Will there be heartache or joy? If I read this book, will I forget the last? Maybe I should just keep re-reading the book I have.
Then one day, I'm at the library and a cover catches my eye. I pick up the book and read the description. Hey, that sounds like it might be good - I think I could try that one. Then I see a few more that look interesting and take them as well. Maybe I'm ready to read again.
When I get home I pick the most promising looking book to start. It has an attractive cover and comes well recommended. I hold the closed book in my hands for a few seconds getting up my nerve. With a fortifying breath and a pang of letting go, I part the cover and start to read.
After a couple of pages I know that it's not the book for me. It may have looked good on the outside, but it's what's inside that counts. There's nothing to do but close this one and try again.
The next is readable, but still not what I was hoping to find. It's a pleasant diversion, but won't withstand the test of time. So I will read it until something better comes along.
After all, what's life without reading?
There are new books written every day, and I'm going to keep reading them. Some are going to be bad and some are going to be good, but I won't know if I don't try. Giving up is not an option. If I just keep reading I know that sooner or later I'm going to find that one new book that thrills me and makes it all worthwhile.
Because when that happens, it's like magic.