I will post links later but for my current purpose it will suffice to say only that I have been inspired by various blogs and tweets to write this today.
I am nearing the end Of A Widow for One Year by John Irving. If I'm being honest, I don't love the title and that widow that shows up for a split second in the latter third of the book seems contrived and just stuck in there willy nilly, which is upsetting in an otherwise well thought out, "everything in its place" kind of book. This, however, is not a book review. This is about what comes next. After 500 pages I am unnaturally attached to ruth cole and eddie o'hare and I'm not sure who to replace them with. usually, when I'm midway or more through a book the next book I am to read presents itself. By way of genre or author or some obscure reference. This hasn't happened. When it doesn't happen I will spend hours staring at my books. Not all at once, but total. Sometimes nothing works and I'm off to skylight to buy something. Which will, more often than not, turn in to somethings. Which, more often than not, will sit on my shelf to be contemplated at a later date and deemed insufficient to stand up to whatever masterpiece I've just read. It's a vicious and expensive (and heavy) cycle.
*and don't tell me to read The Help because I don't have it and I have to read at least one more of my own books before I go buy anything else! (Of course, now it's all I can think about. Crap!)
**I should also mention that without reading material that I am excited about I feel extremely uncomfortable.