I admit it I under-describe things and have to go back later to pump it up.  However, I’d rather do that than do what the author (who will remain anonymous) of the mystery, (the title too shall remain anonymous) that I’m reading has done.

     He has bored me with paragraph after paragraph of tedious description.  Admittedly, the book was published in 1978.  Had I read it then I would have said the same thing.  The book is a trudge.

     Nothing gets past him without a description.  He describes minor characters in minute detail.  He hands to you, in microscopic illustration, every location in the book.  He’s boring me to tears.  What bothers the crap out of me is that according to the book jacket, from 1978, he wrote sixteen novels.  Geez, I wonder how many he’s had published since then.  I’ll have to look for his books when I go to the bookstore again.  Then I’ll ignore them.

     I think I’ll hang on to the book as an example of what not to write.  No, I didn’t buy the book. 

     G lent me a stack of new books I hadn’t read and I spotted this old one in a pile of books she was taking to a used bookstore.  The title intrigued me.  Sigh, I should’ve left it in the reject pile.