Booktok Is Ruining Reading Novels & Stories

It was the best kind of job for me, I loved it and I got paid weekly, enough to eat, after my first paycheck, I had spent a full week starving, I tried to ask for my money beforehand but my boss who’s the meanest person ever, said no. How could such a cold hearted person be responsible for one of the best places in the world! There was no sleeping with a storm outside, I was up most of the night, I was up early and ready to go to work, I was slipping but pushed it down as I got out of her car and quickly walked over to the bookstore. I walked over to the children's books area, I was thankful no one was around as I sat down in a beanbag after grabbing a few books to read.

Thousands of abandoned books rested upon the silent sand. Some were half-buried. Others lay open, their pages completely blank. The woman whispered, "These are all unfinished stories..." The First Reader nodded. "Every story abandoned by its Author eventually arrives here." Adrian stepped onto the cold sand. The moment his foot touched the shore... every abandoned book trembled. One by one... their pages began turning. Not by wind. By recognition. A faint whisper rose from every direction. "Author..." "Please..." "Finish us..." Thousands of voices.

My phone buzzed—Noah. Not a call this time. A text. Did we do something wrong? My friend said your book might get taken down. My chest tightened. I typed back slowly, choosing words the way you choose steps on broken glass. We didn’t do anything wrong. Someone is trying to scare us. The book stays. You stay safe. He replied with a single emoji—🧠—then another: 🔒 He was locking himself into the part of the story the internet couldn’t access. I wanted to hug him so hard I broke the air.

You enjoy the fluff, get your panties wet during the snu-snu moments, and fantasize about things that only happen in fiction. 'You like to read these crappy books because you want to fantasize about the things that you can never have. These books make up for your boring reality. These books have twisted your expectations of a real man. You drool over fictional characters but you won't look at a real man,' My younger brother had chastised me once, 'and these authors make your wallet thinner by manipulating your mindset and making you addicted.'

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I simply nodded quickly, my eyes still not leaving the book. Minutes and hours passed as I got more and more engaged inside my book, but I didn’t care. This book was too interesting, and I couldn’t stop. God, this is why my parents stopped buying me books. They always made it sound like that’s all I’m ever good at and that it would “distract” me from doing the “important” things in life. Like trying to win the heart of a blood-sucking monster. “Interesting,” I heard a familiar voice say before my book was snatched away from me.

“Business plans blah blah...Argh!, I would probably doze off at the second page and that has like 400 pages?!” “I’m the one reading it and not you. Why are you complaining?” “Tsk! You are so boring, you should get something more interesting to read not this boring book” He looked at me amusedly and moved closer to me making me rest my back at the shelf. “You are getting books for your exam? Are the books in any way fun to read?” “No, because they are textbooks and textbooks are naturally boring” “So...?” He looked at me questionably. “You aren’t attending any school anymore. No exams to worry about. Why do you even need to read books? This kind for that matter” I scoffed.

Lucian asked. "I like reading," I whispered. "But the thing is if it really likes what you've just said... The more I read, the more I understand... I'm not sure if I want to read at all." "Why?" Lucian looked confused. "I don't want to read books to understand cruelty. If all the books are written to justify cruelty, then these books are wrong," I said. Lucian stared at me without saying anything. There was a very strange look on his face.

I demanded, furrowing my brow in disbelief. I was pissed because Lydia was tearing the book without remorse. Books are like living things to me; they have characters and the lives of those characters in them, so they ought to be treated with care. Every crease on the cover, every worn page tells a story not just of the narrative within, but of the readers who have journeyed through its words.

Help yourself to one of those. ‘You mean read?’ ‘That is what people usually do with books.’ With a short sigh of impatience, Theodore wandered over to examine the neat rows of titles which lined an entire wall of her sitting room. The only things he ever read were financial papers or contracts, or business-related articles he caught up with when he was travelling. Occasionally his attention would be caught by some glossy car magazine, which would lure him into changing his latest model for something even more powerful. But he never read books. He had neither the time nor the inclination to lose himself in the world of fiction. He remembered that stupid story he’d read at school—about some a