I put off looking at my credit card statement for a few days. I had, indeed, spent a lot of money on books recently. Perhaps I should have been more concerned. I wasn't. What I knew was three years ago my interest in Crime Fiction switched off. I cast about trying to figure out what was wrong. I beat myself up about. This blog, the free books people were sending me, and 25 years of reading Crime Fiction will give you serious pause when suddenly you lose all interest.
I was more concerned by that, so much more than the money. Three years ago was also the summer that the wife and I decided it was time to pull up stakes and give Rochester the long goodbye. It was the summer I would make and lose a number of friends due to geographic separation. It was the summer Wallace laid his head down for the last time. I wish I had given away the books sooner. Stopped reading so many authors who were not worth my time. Wished I had made the list. But I didn't.
Timing, a friend told me. You have to be ready to make some decisions. The time wasn't right, and now it is. That is long and short of it. It is probably the only answer I will ever get as to why I spent this time in the wilderness.