I made the mistake today of picking up my special edition (25th Anniversary, with bonus "Buttercup's Baby" chapter) of The Princess Bride. Somewhere in the house is my paperback copy, the copy I bought in 1973 because I saw the cover and it looked interesting, but it may be in my son's room because I insisted they each read The Princess Bride.
Picking it up again was a mistake. Before I knew it, I was reading about Buttercup and Westley's first kiss, and the sword fight on the cliffs.
And then I wanted to burn my keyboard. But instead I gritted my teeth and went back to my WIP, because my job isn't to write like William Goldman, or Nora Roberts, or William Shakespeare, my job is to write the best romance novel that Darlene Marshall is capable of writing.
But in closing, let me just say that if you've only seen the movie, wonderful as it is, you owe it to yourself to read the book. The book is...well, I'd say it's "inconceivable", but we all know that's not what that word means.