So: 1983, King, wrote what really only amounts to a short story but was sold as a novella about a werewolf. I get their point: I'd forgotten what a slip of a book this actually was.) (In the comments of the last Rereading, somebody wished me luck writing about this for an article. Not because it's bad or anything, but because it's just so slight. Now, I realise, it's almost the very definition of a book that would have been better off staying in the library. That's not a choice I'm necessarily proud of, now. I wanted to buy Cycle of the Werewolf, but it was just so expensive. And a lot of the King novels that I took out of the library I then wanted to buy, because I thought I'd read them again and again, to soak them in. When I was a teenager – when every bit of my income (pocket money) was essentially expendable, and when I had the time to do nothing with my weekends and evenings other than indulge in the stuff I loved – I was able to read every book I wanted from the library, listen to every album that my friends copied for me, and rent those terrible films from the video shop that were, frankly, a waste of everybody's time. There was a time when I was far more obsessed with material things than I am now.
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