![]() ![]() So: 1983, King, wrote what really only amounts to a short story but was sold as a novella about a werewolf. I get their point: I'd forgotten what a slip of a book this actually was.) (In the comments of the last Rereading, somebody wished me luck writing about this for an article. ![]() Not because it's bad or anything, but because it's just so slight. Now, I realise, it's almost the very definition of a book that would have been better off staying in the library. That's not a choice I'm necessarily proud of, now. I wanted to buy Cycle of the Werewolf, but it was just so expensive. ![]() And a lot of the King novels that I took out of the library I then wanted to buy, because I thought I'd read them again and again, to soak them in. ![]() When I was a teenager – when every bit of my income (pocket money) was essentially expendable, and when I had the time to do nothing with my weekends and evenings other than indulge in the stuff I loved – I was able to read every book I wanted from the library, listen to every album that my friends copied for me, and rent those terrible films from the video shop that were, frankly, a waste of everybody's time. There was a time when I was far more obsessed with material things than I am now. ![]()
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