I’m surrounded by an embarrassment of riches.
I have more books than I can read. I keep collecting more because I have a hard time letting one go if it’s still unread.
I’m doing better. I periodically go through my stacks and take out the ones that I’ve had for over two years. If I haven’t gotten to it so far, chances are good I never will.
But I recently dug deep in my stack and pulled out a couple of oldies, with mixed results. Two books by two different authors who will remain nameless. Both bestselling. Both in their eighties, now. Both with popular series.
One of the books was a home run. It was delightful, and up to the usual standards of that author.
The other… not so much. It’s obvious this author is past their prime. The book clocked in at about 180 pages. Thick pages. With w i d e margins. The murder didn’t happen until about page 140. The reader never met the victim in person. The murderer made a cameo appearance early in the story and then went back to California (a handy place to stow suspects until you need them, I guess. Lucky us).
Anyway, it’s a reminder that every book is a gift, every story a new discovery waiting to be enjoyed.
Last book read: Through the Fire by Shawn Grady (highly recommended)
Currently reading: New Moon by Stephanie Meyer
Last movie: Roman Holiday
Today I’m praying for: Francine’s dad, Bev, Darlene.