If a book hasn't grabbed you in eleven months, it's not going to.
I started Bluebird, Bluebird by Attica Locke sometime in January. January. It is now December, which feels like enough time to fairly assess a book’s chances.
The premise of this book is solid. The setting should’ve pulled me in. But page after page, it just… didn’t. No spark. No urgency. No just one more chapter energy. Every time I picked it up, it felt like homework instead of escape reading, and life is too short for that. When I find myself cleaning the kitchen instead of picking up a book, it's time.
So I’m officially calling it. Not every DNF is dramatic. Some books aren’t bad, they’re just not for you. This one never grabbed me, never made me care enough to keep going, and after eleven months of trying, I’m done pretending it might suddenly click.
On to the next book.
