Sometimes I finish one book and go right onto the next without hesitation or thought. Sometimes I stop a book in the middle so I can reread one that I love to pieces or discover love for a new book that I know I can’t wait to read. Sometimes I make lists of books I think everyone should read then I realize how my tastes in books is an acquired taste (sometimes). Sometimes I browse the Independent Reader section in hopes of gems I may have missed in my youth when I was not quite the avid reader. (Phantom Tollbooth, Ella Enchanted, I’m looking at you). Sometimes I go through all of my shelves and purge the books I know I won’t reread, I won’t lend out and I won’t miss, not really, at least no eventually. Sometimes I ache for a feeling, a recognition and I search out isles looking at titles, first pages and front covers. Sometimes I get unreasonably mad at characters and unhappy endings. Sometimes I wish I hadn’t read a certain book, only so I could read it again for the first time and feel the same wonder and excitement. Sometimes I read blogs by authors I adore just to feel close to them. Sometimes I search authors’ names on Amazon in search of books that have yet to come out. Sometimes I stand in the fiction section and imagine my name on a book just where my name would be. Sometimes I search for boys online solely based on their book preferences in their profiles. Sometimes I recognize potential friends by their ability to love a book I adore. Sometimes I sleep with books beneath my pillow, wishing their magic would seep into my dreams. Sometimes I browse the “summer reading” section for classics new and old. Sometimes I search for book loving blogs and blog loving books and blogs that write about books. Sometimes I blog about reading.
