Every so often, I visit a bookstore and buy an armful of books. Maybe there’s a sale going on. Maybe I have a coupon. Maybe I’ve found a hole in the wall with a great selection and simply can’t help myself. However it happens, I buy more than I can read before the next bookstore trip, or fortuitous garage sale or estate sale find (I’m always looking for books for my Etsy shop but, well, some of them don’t ever get listed).
These books pile up on me. Especially when I go through periods, like I have lately, of not reading. It just seems like there’s never enough time. And reading is so passive–if I’m going to do something during the day that takes attention away from my kids, it feels like it should be productive. In the evenings, I want to spend time with my husband. For some reason, he gets a little offended if I blow him off for a book. Go figure. I guess that’s what happens when you marry a non-bookworm.
But I always come back to reading. I have to make time for it–it’s a part of me. And if my kids don’t like me stealing a half an hour a day to read a book, well, they can lump it. (Seriously: there are times when they want me sitting near them but I’m not allowed to play, and if I take out a book or my phone or a notebook it’s tantrum time, baby. And/or they steal the thing that’s taking my attention and make me insane.) I’ve got to get back to those books. I will get back to them. Soon. I hope.
It’s National Book Lovers Day! (Book Lovers’ Day?) I’ve also seen it listed as National Book Appreciation Day. Either way, I’ve decided to do a little giveaway. Just tell me about your favorite books in the comments below and I’ll pick a winner at random. Once you’re picked, I’ll look at your favorites and choose a book I think you’d like from my library and send it your way!
I have never been into mysteries. My parents read us quite a few Hardy Boys books when we were little, but I mainly enjoyed those because my parents were reading them to me. Even as a kid, I often thought there’s a lot of silliness that goes into mystery writing, and not the good kind–this is silliness that doesn’t seem to know it’s silliness. Put on a feathered hat and dance around: great. Put a pair of boys with flashlights in an old mill while they wonder what the heck this place is for three pages: [eyeroll].
That’s sort of how I felt about the TV series Midsomer Murders when it was introduced to me a year or two ago. I came in on the SILLIEST episode: a group of bell ringers were being killed off one by one because–can you guess?–some other bell ringer wanted to win a bell ringing competition. Totally solid motive, right? For mass murder? I hated it immediately. But we were at my parents’ house and they wanted to watch it. And then the next night they wanted to watch another one, which was a little bit better but which lulled me to sleep (partially the TV show, partially I was pregnant).