I read the endings of books before finishing them.

I’m not ashamed of it, but it happens during pretty much every book (short stories too). I’m cruising along, and the thought idly occurs to me…”I wonder how this character ends up?” and I flip to the back of the book and find out. I still keep reading the book. My enjoyment of the first half of the book (before spoiling it) is no less than that of the second half. Rather, I think it adds a certain piquancy. Every time the characters do something, I wonder how this is going to end up there. But I am tired of apologizing for my reading method. Rather, on July 17th I shall take a stand for all that is good and right by wandering down to the local independent bookstore, grabbing a copy of Harry Potter, and reading the last fifteen pages.

Of course, I won’t spoil it. I already had two sad and sorry encounters with what happens when someone thinks you’ve spoiled a book for them. When I finished reading HP 5 I had the idea to invent a fake twist that would seem plausible. The twist was that Fleur De La Couer turns out to be a Death Eater and kills Arthur Weasley (no, it didn’t actually happen). This resulted in a severe full-on beating from one girl who was a casual acquaintance and in another one blocking me from her instant messenger account and not talking to me for months. Sheesh, kids. Anyway, if I shouted out the ending in a bookstore, I have the feeling that three burly hockey dads would pummel me into the pavement.