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It’s not one book in particular, but there is something that makes me mad, book wise, something is not even the books’ fault.

That’s when I start reading a book without realizing it is part of a series, but the following books are not there yet.

Here’s how it goes.

After an embarrassing amount of time (that I should use for menial things like, I don’t know, sleeping) spent surfing amazon ebook page and my library’s catalog of e-books (it’s and, not either/or. I check both, every single time even if it’s been only 3 days since the last time).

I cross reference to see blurbs and occasionally reviews, the latter mostly when I want some comedy as some reviews are so deeply dumb. I change my mind a few times on genre – am I in the mood for contemporary? maybe. Check a couple of books. No, not the right mood. Let’s see what’s the fantasy section has to offer. Yes. It’s a fantasy kind of moment. But dark and bloody, or a retelling? Let’s go dark and bloody.

Finally, after reading blurbs of an X number of books, I find the one.

The books that I’m going to love for the next 3 to 4 days.

If I don’t like it, then I’ll be grumpy for however time I wasted on it, but it’ll be ok fairy soon.

Let’s say I LOVE the story.

Love it, all the way thought.

Now I don’t want to leave the world, the author, and in general anything that will keep me in that story.

My only chance is book 2. And 3.

So I go back on either amazon or the library, ready and eager to start a new adventure and love it equally.

The book page load, and….

It’s the only book in the series.

The next will be out next year.

What?

WHAT?

EXCUSE ME, WHAT????

This is why I should never, ever, scout for new books at night.
Because I read every freaking detail of the book except – EXCEPT – take moment to notice if the new books in the series are out.

Then I pin the book somewhere, and I move on to a book I already know I will hate because it’s not the one I wanted to read. The one that’s not even written at this moment.

It takes me usually a few days to get over the self-directed rage and disappointment. I’m mad at myself (with reason), at the book I loved and at the book that’s still not there (no reasons why I should). At the book I’m about to start (again, why would I?)

And you know what?

I never learn my lesson.

Or, at the very least, I learn it for the next book or two and then I’m back to my old, reckless habits.

And this is the story of how I get mad with books – cue in major eye roll….