that horrible moment when it strikes you

when you do the math

and realize that you are more than likely past the halfway point of your entire life

I am 45. My father died at 42. My mother at 71. My grandmothers both held on closer to their nineties. Depending on who you use as a benchmark, I have anywhere from -3 to 40ish years left.

I came to this realization in a discussion on Reddit, where someone asked “what’s most badly written SF/F book you’ve ever read, and why”, and I included a snarky aside at the expense of /r/fantasy favorite “Malazan; Book of the Fallen” along with “Battlefield Earth”, which is literally the first book I ever stopped reading because it was too bad for me to bother finishing.

But, you know, I tried reading Lord of the Rings three or four times in my life, and I never liked it, and I don’t care how wonderful the series may get; when an author spends the first half hour of the time I’m spending with them excitedly bouncing up and down telling me how much he loved everything I hated about Tolkien’s writing… yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna see if your ten-volume epic really does get better in book 2 or 3 or 6 or whatever the consensus is. A half hour is all you get before I close your book forever.