Average Time To Read A 300-page Book Novels & Stories

I couldn't help but wonder if she is trying to hone her skills or if she is a member of the intelligence unit. We were the only ones in this particular lounge. Save for the couches we were on and an empty coffee table. Her pretty face was tense. She seemed rather concentrated on the book. Her cheekbones were even more visible than usual. I've been counting the seconds. On average, she turns to a new page every ninety seconds. Now and then, she would shift her hold on the large book so she would be able to brush the hair that had fallen into her eyes. Her green eyes looked up again, this time at me. Would you stop that? It's irritating and you're making me uneasy. "

She knew it was honest. The second book was seventy pages into its first draft. The chapter on the long middle was the hardest chapter and it was going slowly and she was not rushing it. The second book would take two years, probably. She had two years. She had more than two years — Petra was right, the room was large. Darius read the seventy pages in a single evening. He said: "The chapter on the long middle is the best thing you've written." "It is not finished," she said.

My legs carry me inside, passing the shelves lined with books, stalking around the table, my fingers trailing over the smooth surface as I walk. My fingers paused on the worn edge of a familiar book with a crescent moon carved at the front, the one with no name. Picking it up, fall into the chair. I roll backward then turn around, with one hand, I push back the curtain, popped a foot under me, and I get comfortable, and start reading. The book is a short one, I finish it in an hour and a half, and I remain staring at the book afterward.

She read for an hour. Not scanning. Not the way she read briefings and intelligence summaries, with one part of her attention on the content and another already in the implications. She read the way she had read as a child, all the way inside it, following what happened and finding out by continuing. The book was good. It had been good for two weeks, and she had been reading it slowly because she was learning to read things she wanted to last at a pace that let them. She put it down at eight forty-five. Not because she had to. Because she wanted to call Marco before his afternoon started.

he instructed me. “Alright” Taking the keys from him, I wait for him to leave. “You have one hour and twenty minutes” he added as he decided to leave. My eyes widened. Forty minutes have already passed. I should be quick. I started with the top shelf corner. It took me twenty minutes as I went through every page, reading history, about curses and stuff. One hour passed by and I was losing my hope as only two books were remaining. Only twenty minutes and I went through the remaining two books. My heart was saddened when I did not find the cure. With an angry growl, I kicked the shelf. And a small leather book fell down. Frowning, I took a look and flipped it.

“Sorry if I am late. I know your office hours end right about now.” “I have all night,” Professor Vance answered quickly. “I wanted to return this book to you.” I handed him the volume he had given me that morning. Vance took it, brows drawn together. “You do not want to read it?” “I have already finished.” He stared at me with wide hazel eyes. “It has only been a couple of hours, and the book is nearly three hundred pages. You finished it?” “Yes,” I said, finally relaxing under his intense gaze. “I really enjoyed it.”

"You hated it?" "No." "You loved it?" "No." "That narrows it down." Walter looked down at the book. His thumb brushed the edge of the cover. A tiny movement. Easy to miss. "I finished it." Lois stared. "Already?" "It wasn't very long." "It was four hundred pages." Silence. The silence answered for him. Her eyes widened. "You stayed up reading." "No." "You absolutely stayed up reading." "I had insomnia." "Convenient." For the briefest moment, Walter looked almost embarrassed.

"Living. Raising our kids. Being present. That matters more than publications or perfect hair." I squeezed his hand. "When did you get so wise?" "Around kid number three. Perspective kicked in." --- We talked about everything except kids. Work. Current events. That book I'd been trying to read for three months. "I'm on page forty," I admitted. "Since February." "That's... really slow." "I read the same page five times. Keep falling asleep." "Maybe not the right book?" "Maybe not the right life stage for reading." "Fair." Dessert arrived. Chocolate cake. Actual adult dessert without having to share with small humans.

Roric called down, "most people would take a break after reading for six hours straight." "Most people aren't trying to solve a mystery that could get them killed." "Fair point." I flipped another page. The text was old—really old—written in a dialect that was barely recognizable as the common tongue. But my mind had adapted over the years. My legs had stopped working, but my brain had compensated. I'd become a voracious reader, a sponge for information. I could absorb entire pages in seconds, retain details that would take normal people days to memorize.

We just finished eating dinner, and the sun is about to set. I sat on the pile of books that she had finished reading for the last few days about the history of the witches, Salem, and lots more of it. This bookworm is not just curious about vampires and werewolves but also about witches. And to think that she has already read all the books from the vampires' palace, and also, the werewolves', I certainly feel that my girlfriend is now a walking library. It started when she discovered that she could read so damn fast in her vampire form, and I never knew it. She can freaking finish reading a whole five hundred pages book in just no more than twenty minutes. Crazy, right? While me? I'm fine.