I read. All the time. In bed, in a chair, on the floor, on a stair. I read on a stationary bike, in an outdoor hot tub, at the coffee shop, at the library, waiting for a bus, between bites of lunch, at Starbucks, sitting by my sister, while others watch TV, on vacation, during winter, all through summer, on an airplane, under a tree, lying beside my husband,--do you see a trend?
But one sweet memory that never lets me down, is the one where I'm hiding under the covers with my flashlight, the fancy one I got for camp, and reading The Secret of the Old Clock or Scaramouche or The Fall of the House of Usher or Treasure Island or The History of Witchcraft or The Hound of the Baskervilles or How to Make Marionettes or Johnny Tremaine, or whatever the bookmobile happened to have that week.
I still read a lot. Nowadays, in addition to books, I also read blogs. Sometimes I comment, but that usually gets me into a lot of trouble, so it's pretty rare. I read blogs put up by writers, editors, agents, and publishers.
Hey, these are the people who make books! They capture my attention and my imagination. There's no way I can hold my own with them and I don't want to. I want them to be smarter than me, be more inventive than me.
Ah, well.
Anyway, so some people have criticized me because, they say, I am anonymous. This is not true. I use my name when I comment, and I always use my email address. Till now I've not used a blog address. I guess they want to know where to find me when I'm not expecting them. Are they planning a surprise attack? Who knows?
There's a way to kill the blog off permanently and quickly, if I lose interest, which I tend to do, or if it goes sour. Given the unpopularity of my opinions, that's not only possible, but probable.
Enough about me. Let's see what's on the night stand now.
