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It’s been almost two years since book five of the Song of Ice and Fire series, by George R. R. Martin (aka The Great Bearded Glacier), was released in the US, but to me it’s felt more like two decades.  The anticipation is killing me.

I have all the novels thus far.  The wait between A Storm of Swords and A Feast for Crows was exactly five years; between A Feast for Crows and A Dance with Dragons were five and a half years; I hate to think that I might have to wait another three or more years for The Winds of Winter.  Sob.

Someone once suggested to me that I should stop reading the books until the very last one is finished and published, so I could start over at the beginning and read the series all the way through, uninterrupted, from start to finish.  Ha.  Ha.  Hahaha.

That person obviously has no idea.  Martin’s stories are like crack.  I think the Game  of Thrones HBO show has proved that.  Westeros is where we want to be.  Its inhabitants are who we want for our friends . . . and enemies.  We want its history and drama to be our own.

Being denied the ability to live vicariously through our favorite characters is nothing but simple torture.

So please, George, please, write faster!

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