My eyes hurt. Me, I'm blaming a bestselling author for it.
No, not the reason you're probably thinking. It's not eyestrain from reading way, way, waywayway past my bedtime because the book was Just That Good.
It's from all the damn eye rolling.
By page 9, I'd rolled my eyes more than ten times. The last three times were within a one-minute period.
And it wasn't from the HORRIFIC typos -- two -- that I'd caught so far (one was a punctuation slip, which I can forgive; the other, on page 3, was a stupid misspelling that even a brain-dead flea should have noticed).
It was from how damn unsympathetic the main character was. And by page 9, I officially had enough. So I skipped to the last chapter, learned how the book ends, and I realized that while I wasted an obscene amount of money buying this book (even a dollar would have been too much for it, it my most humble opinion) I was happy that now I won't be wasting an obscene amount of time suffering through the story.
My eyes are thanking me.
Moving on. Currently reading Cornelia Read's gripping A FIELD OF DARKNESS. Worlds better than the Unnamed Horror That Hurt My Eyes. Some of the lines are utterly brilliant. I can't wait to start quoting them to my friends.