This is a cautionary tale, and one that could have been much worse. I’m an avid reader. You can often catch me, Kindle Paperwhite in hand, admiring prose from authors like Truman Capote, or Googling how much LSD it takes to actually kill a man after reading Hunter S. Thompson. On any given weekend, I might be in the mood to read poetry by Maya Angelou or perhaps dream of throwing away all my worldly possessions and moving to a cabin in the woods a la Henry David Thoreau. These were masters of their craft, and I enjoy being transported into their world,…
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