I just added nine -- count 'em NINE -- new books to my reading list.
I sometimes feel like I never have enough time to read everything I want. And believe me, I'm discerning. Just because a book has received rave reviews isn't necessarily enough for me. It has to catch my mood just right. It has to draw me in with exactly what I'm itching for: wit, prose, humour,
love, suspense, junk, escape. I read all genres and it's not very often that I won't finish a book, even if it's less than engaging and it's slow going from page one. I don't read or like everything I pick out for myself but I think that's part of the joy of reading, i.e., hitting some real snoozers/ickies.
If you haven't noticed, my 'waiting on the bookshelf' list has been steadily growing despite my reading quite voraciously. This year I've already finished twenty-one books and the year is barely half over. At this rate I may read fifty books by New Year's. My intense affair with reading wasn't always so hot and bothered. I went through a period in junior high where I read nothing but required school stuff -- and even then it was lots of skimming and Cliff's notes. During high school (and thanks to my then-boyfriend/future-husband) I started reading again and after my data entry job, which entailed listening to hundreds of audiobooks to occupy my mind for hours on end (I'm still addicted to audiobooks and I always have one on my iPhone to entertain me during shopping excursions, dish washing, laundry folding, road trips, and on and on), my fling with literature became a solid romance. I received my BA in English and even though I'm getting my MBA, I have a secret (or not so secret) fantasy that I eventually get my Masters of Fine Arts, write poetry, a national bestseller, and begin an exclusive book club. My entire life would be nothing but reading and writing and discussing literature ... and maybe, just maybe then, I'd start to grow sick of reading.
So my mountain of books waiting to be read will *hopefully* always continue to grow. That way the pain of finishing a truly marvelous novel and the pain of a truly horrible book will be dulled by the neverending possibility of a truly unforgettable novel being the next one on the pile.
