The Death of Books: Why Stories Never Die

Books are aestetically pleasing at times. And $1. If found at Library Sales.

 I've had a bunch of people tell me books are dying. That I should write for ebooks rather than with traditional publishing in mind. I've had them ask me why I read on my tablet more than "real" books.

I've had a tablet for a year. It's a less back-breaking version of my laptop or carting around my one hundred-some hard copy library. Does it replace my laptop? Nope. So why should a tablet replace my hardcopy books?

Besides, books are not dead yet. That's all I am going to say. Nor are they going to die any time soon.

But frankly, I think people are caught up in the whole: "books are stories and so stories must only be books," frame of mind.

Slow down a moment now. Remember, books are made of paper bound together with a combination of glue and string that I don't have the expertise to explain. Stories, are words strung together by a theme, a lesson, a plot, a character, a setting, something which makes them interesting to listen to, something which tells, reminds us, opens our eyes to our world, our lives and who humans truly are.

In summary: Books are physical objects which recorded stories for many people. Stories are the spirit of humanity which filter throughout our consciousness whether or not they are repeated, passed on or developed.

So, why is there all this crying and moaning about how the world is going to get stupider just because stories might not come packaged in tidy rectanglar stacks of squished trees and ink?

Then there's the whole battle between non-fiction and fiction (which doesn't even tip toe near the snobbishness of the literary lauders versus the genre geeks).

A Story is A Story. It is telling you something. It is making you learn something. Whether the lesson is smacked on your forhead with the name of Aesop, or through the biography of Mandela, the life of a vegan or the trials of the Fellowship as they take a dangerous tool to its destruction or the rapid-fire deductions and haunted hound adventures of Sherlock Holmes, you are being confronted with humanity.

It might teach you to think before you act, it might inspire you to stand up for your beliefs, it might open your eyes on another persons perspective, it might teach you to never give up and always hold to hope or it might make you more observant of your surroundings and the effects they have on you and others.

In short. Stories. No matter what label you stick to them give you a way to learn and grow. All without having to go out and fall off a cliff to know why to be careful when you walk near one. That is not to say people might still go out and try crazy things because a story inspired them to do it, but hey, that's also part of being a listener of stories. You might need to recognize starting a revolution like the characters of Les Miserables is possibly not the best thing to do just because you had a disagreement with someone. In short, you need be a critical thinker. If you can do that. Well, you can do anything with stories. Even the crappy ones that have Mary-Sues dropped into the world of Middle Earth. You might just learn how to edit.

So there you have it. Are books dead? Maybe they will be. Maybe never.

What won't die, no matter what form it takes, (how about oral storytelling), are stories.

Well, okay. The day stories die humans probably be long dead too. Unless there are other sentient beings out there who tell stories. It's possible. But that's for another day.

Telling stories. Always.
Moony.

Quotitarian Quiffery (or: Life and the Universe though Terry Pratchett)

Due to this thing called Life which does tend to fly through you rather than with you. Like a regular old aeroplane, I missed my usual Thursday quote muse. Not that there is much of a problem with missing it seeing as Time just sits there until you do something with it. Though just sitting there tends to make it melt a too quick. Sort of like leaving your ice cream cone on a table. Ice cream and tables are a bad combination. Stick them together for even two seconds and you'll still find yourself having to frenetically lap up the drippy bits.

This is a wall. It is built of bits from other walls. The Question: Is it an original wall or just a lazy one?

Anyway, I've corraled Time with some velcro-strapped Semtex just to keep things interesting. I'm actually supposed to piling up the desserts for Easter tomorrow. Whoever decided Easter required desserts is probably trying to sell you something and frankly I cannot see the point of it. (Well, that part at least). I can and love the part of Easter which involves solving a series of elaborate riddles in order to locate the years stash of chocolate eggs.

Easter is one of those events which can be aptly summed up by the following genius:

"The trouble with having an open mind, of course, is that people will insist on coming along and trying to put things in it."
— Terry Pratchett (Diggers (Bromeliad Trilogy, #2))

Whether it is how one is supposed to celebrate the events listed on your mass produced calendar (if you roll that way), or if it is what events your are even supposed to celebrate, the entire point of humanity seems to be a race to make the bathwater of the brain overflow with ideas and thoughts that are not actually your own. How do you know you even have your own thoughts? They are so influenced and effected by your surroundings, the people, the place and the things in it. Plus those people, the place and the things have all had influence from other sources as well. So really, your brain is a bathtub in which all sorts of scented bubble soaps are dumped, in attempt to create another individual who can carry on a certain idea or concept. That way, of course, the originator doesn't have to be alone. Right? Well, that's just me trying to find a positive reason behind the exploitation that drived 99.9% of everything in this society.

Before these pillars. A building existed. Orginally, of course.

 Then again, some format of bathwater is needed and no one can survive as an entirely blank slate simply because humans also happen to be descended from animals who do not necessarily think before they act. Which is why the classic snap trap with some sort of tasty food beneath it, will always work, unless you're dealing with a cat. They have opinions. And schedules. Don't Ever, Ever, mess them up. They are masters at the death-ray glare. So, perhaps it is okay to be influenced because it's going to happen, unless you have decomposed into dirt and by that point you're probably just weasling around greedy roots that are trying to squish you to some alternative form of death that only dirt can have. That said, once influenced, humans stop at nothing to poke things. It's hilarious to think about, I mean, who cannot laugh at a phrase like this:

The Doctor: "...there's something that doesn't make sense. Let's go poke it with a stick." (Doctor Who S5.7).

If you didn't at least chuckle there must be something wrong with you and I suggest you check in with your local automaton shop and request an upgrade in your humour lobes. Then again, poking things with sticks is also highly dangerous for the indivduals involved in the poking and, if you want to get dark, the individuals or things being poked could also be at risk. Don't go pressing any Big Red Buttons unless you are absolutely certain of the consequences. The great Terry Pratchett agrees with me these counts.

"Some humans would do anything to see if it was possible to do it. If you put a large switch in some cave somewhere, with a sign on it saying 'End-of-the-World Switch. PLEASE DO NOT TOUCH', the paint wouldn't even have time to dry."
— Terry Pratchett (Thief of Time (Discworld, #26))

Well, he mostly agrees. On the things that should count, like that people have an insatiable curiousity and regardless of the apocalyptic, planet-blowing-up consequences, 9.99999 times out of 10, humans will race to the finish line of "Who Can Poke That Thing First" and proceed to cause problems for the Universe. Then again, he prefers switches over buttons and that I cannot quite agree with, after all, what's more inviting? A giant red button you could dramatically pump your fist down on or a switch that you could twig up and down with a pinky?

Spot the Moon. It's been the Big Button in the Sky since humanity's post-ape days.

Then again that really is entirely up to the Kettle of Esthetics. Which (conveniently) leads me into another point regarding the Limbs of Human Thought-Processes which are just asking to be tickled to a metaphorical death. See, esthetics, being basically how pretty something is to an indvidual's eyesight, leads right back to that whole idea about individual choice. Just how much of your esthetic choices are truly your own? Probably nil. Tragic thought isn't it? That none of your thoughts are probably originally yours. Even if you were raised by wolves and lived like a hermit in the middle of the tundra you will still be influenced by that lifestyle. And wolves. So perhaps the idea of not having a single one of your own unique thoughts is okay. Because everyone and everything is sitting in the same boat (minus any tigers).

I finally got around to watching The Lego Movie recently and it rather deftly deals with ideas of originality, the freedom of the individual to create and what happens when you are influenced to create certain things in a certain way. But I'll not go into here as I'm attempting to focus on Terry Pratchett in this particular ramble. Though even with Terry Pratchett you could spend hours to years analysing his works because of the piquant universal insights he has wrapped in a genius fantasy world of endless humour. Sadly it is because of that particular choice of wrapping paper that universities have yet to add him onto any reading lists.

Then again, in a hundred years Terry Pratchett might very well end up on a reading list, after all, Jane Austen and Dickens were considered to be the sort of leisure reading done by young girls or working class individuals lacking in morality or intellect. Nowadays anyone who reads those two are considered almost as high-nosed as anyone who as actually read (and I mean cover to cover with no skimming) James Joyce's Ulysseys for example. Though anyone who hasn't and still says they have are about as worse as the depth of Mariana's Trench, which is to say, deeply worse. 

The day a cat treats you like a Freshly Laundered Pile, you're probably famous. They don't associate with grass-stains.

In a messy bow-tie of all my musings around these scant few Terry Pratchett gems I entreat you to keep your eyes always moving. When you are trekking through whatever dusty, muddy or tidy concrete sidewalk you happen to be currently on, don't just look at the path so you can skip the cracks or the roots, make sure you avoid other people moving in other directions, or branches, branches are violent. They'll poke out your eyes. If you aren't looking first. Be aware the things you celebrate are largely a mass social construct devised primarily to eat holes in your wallet and make them less about stuff and more about imagination. Make up stories to explain why you do things that have nothing to do with bunnies or baskets or even the religions you follow. Try making up your own personal mythology. Make sure to do a taste test, like baking cookies, you cannot bake your own mythology without making sure it tastes good to you first. Once you've done so, add this mythology to whatever else existed first, whether it was related to bunnies and baskets or your particular religion.

Guess what you've just done? You've created something new. Sure, it might still sit the the trappings many other people follow, but there will be parts personalized for just you. That's how you can keep an open mind and still poke things with sticks without causing too much of a baking soda and vinegar explosion. It's as simple as that stereotyped science project. Except now, maybe instead of placing that mixture in a volcano you've dropped it down cardboard toiletpaper tubes and have it aimed at your bath tub. After all, in the words of Terry Pratchett (through the voice of Death):    

"Death: Human beings make life so interesting. Do you know, that in a universe so full of wonders, they have managed to invent boredom."
— Terry Pratchett (Hogfather (Discworld, #20))

Don't fall prey to boredom. Keep that life interesting. Keep creating. Though in case of boredom, know this:

"A good bookshop is just a genteel Black Hole that knows how to read."
— Terry Pratchett (Guards! Guards! (Discworld, #8))

Also this: 

"He'd been wrong, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was a flamethrower."
— Terry Pratchett (Mort (Discworld, #4))

And don't forget: 

"Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." 
— Terry Pratchett (A Hat Full of Sky (Discworld, #32))

Tickling away Time. And sort of, but not really, apologizing for the conveyor-belt of quotes that are meant to provide pithy insight into things like missing socks and broken pencils.

Moony.

P.S: As an admirer of Terry Pratchett's genius I also follow his environmental consciousness regarding the use of the English language. In other sentences, that is all just to say: 

"This [post] was written using 100% recycled words."
— Terry Pratchett (Wyrd Sisters (Discworld, #6))

Death by Bookshelf Part 3 of 3

In my last post I lamented how my love of reading has potentially become a crutch excuse allowing me to hide from the world rather than going out and being social and fearless. Thing is, I am an Introvert. There is nothing wrong with enjoying my own company and that of a book over the mindless chatter that comes from most social interactions, and that is even if you are socializing in a place where you can hear each other talk. Hate pubs. Never been to a club and intend to keep things that way. 

So really, that entire last post means almost nothing since I really shouldn't care what society says I should do or not do or be like. When I finish it (since non-fiction books, even chosen by me are not my first choice for enjoyment), I will be doing a post on Susan Cain's, "Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World that Cannot Stop Talking (link). Brilliant. It's the first non-fiction, semi-self-help book that has not been foisted on my by someone thinking said recommendation will make me a better person. I sigh. Dramatically. 

Anyway, what this post is all about is celebrating being buried under a whole list of books which have influenced me for various reasons and in various ways. Some are books that I return to year after year, even if the book was one I read at the age of 10 while others I have been happy to only read once. It's also mostly a post in which I get to be more self-centered than I already am being with this blog and shout to this corner my lists of favourite/influential books. (As if the universe didn't already have enough of these...*cough* GoodReads *cough*).

The Baklava. Consumed once Per Year.

In case you cannot quite read it, the books that have sat on my list of yearly reading (anywhere from 10 years to 5 years are as follows (top left to right): "The Silmarillion" by JRR Tolkien, "Howl's Moving Castle" by Diana Wynne Gabaldon, "Ella Enchanted" by Gail Carson Levine, "Mossflower" by Brian Jacques, "The Golden Book of Faerie" Omnibus by O.R. Melling, "Crown Duel" by Sherwood Smith, "The Princess Bride" by William Goldman, "The Hich Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy" by Douglas Adams, "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings" Trilogy by JRR Tolkien. I could expostulate on each for a whole post so instead, as I get around to reading each one again this year, I'll do an appreciation post then. Currently I've been a bit wrapped in piano practice and reading new things but there is alway room for these special friends. Oh, and I should mention, these are Baklava books because I find cream digusting and I consume other favourites like cinnamon on a ridiculous daily (or twice daily) basis, I eat chocolate rather regularly, peanut butter as much as cinnamon and even carrot cake happens on more than just my birthday. Baklava, however, being an anomaly, I had never heard of, let alone tasted until travelling to Greece, is something so mythological in its divine honey-cinnamon flavour that it usually only happens once. Plus, it was hard to find, though I did learn how to make it two weeks ago. I may post up the recipe and the ensuing results later this week.  

Now, for the rest of the lot, the "influential" ones. Not that the above Baklava Books aren't influential. Far from it. After all, some of them I have been reading once a year for the past ten...If that isn't influential then I might relocate my corner to Mariana's Trench.

Oxidant to Outrageous Bits of Influence

Again, since there are definitely some missing/hard to read titles, the books are as follows (top left to right): "Swordpoint" by Ellen Kushner, "Symphony" by Jude Morgan, "The Birds" by Aristophanes, "The Histories" by Herodotus, "American Gods" by Neil Gaiman, "The Old English Baron" by Clara Reeve, "Agatha H. and the Airship City" by Kaja and Phil Foglio, "The Odd Women" by George Gissing, "The Iliad" attributed to Homer, "Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell" by Susanna Clarke, "The Fox" by Sherwood Smith, "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde, "The Lies of Locke Lamora" by Scott Lynch, "Going Postal" and "Thief of Time" by Terry Pratchett, "The Golden Compass" by Philip Pullman, "His Majesty's Dragon" by Naomi Novik, "Lysistrata and Other Plays" by Aristophanes, "Society at Cranford" by Elizabeth Gaskell, "Complete Works" by Tennyson, "Bleak House" by Charles Dicken, "On Fortune's Wheel" by Cynthia Voight and "Jude the Obsure" by Thomas Hardy. 

Frankly, this list could go on and on with books that I do not happen to have sitting on my bookshelf or somewhere in storage but for now, these are those which I am identifying as having influenced me in some way. A number of these I adore and have read more than once, a number I have read once and either spent a lot of time with them because of a university paper, or, just because I was off camping. Regardless, each of these books, some better than others, have taught me something, made me think or inspired me to try something. That is why I said this list could go on forever and it would probably be phyically impossible to collect together all the books I have ever read that have influenced me (and I mean this in a profound sense, otherwise you could argue everything I have ever read has influenced me, which it probably has). 

Either way, there you have a bit inside my Bookworm life. What can you deduce about my personality from these collections? 

I am me and thus not the most realiable to deduce my own spirit but I will attempt a summary in a sentence:

I am a dreamer who sees reality in the fantatical and strives to live it. 

OR

I am an old spirit who contemplates things more often than actually living them. 

OR

I am an adventurer who lives the paths few have bothered to explore. 

Not sure which is more accurate but I am terrible at summaries so there you have three different perspectives on the same sets of books and a shadow individual. Instead I urge you to check out your own collections. Maybe try this exercise. Group your books together in piles of those you could/do re-read, those which influenced you and maybe go further than I did and seperate them into different piles of influence (ie: influenced your writing style, your genre tastes, your subject knowledge, life lessons etc).

The road goes ever on and on, for this one. 

Moony.

P.S.

My tidy bookshelf that used to be double stacked and piled but is suffering inadequacy due to the house potentially going on the market. (The less favoured minions are suffocating in cardboard darkness next to the Christmas decoration boxes).

EDIT: Apologies to all who hoped I would get into the dangers of reading too much and the value of moderation. Frankly, as I have done these past three posts I have realized so long as I enjoy what I do, who is society to say how I spend my time? Yes, I do need to practice getting out in public and facing fears of speaking in front of unknown persons, but all in all, what I read, how I read, when, where and why I read, are all up to me. Much like those people who choose to be vegan, paleo or drink a glass of red wine with dinner. 

(Tidy aside from "The Hobbit: Creatures and Characters" and Vikram Seth's "An Equal Music..oops).

Death by Bookshelf Part 2 of 3

Why do I read?

Pleasure, education...just because I can???

I'll throw that question back. Why do you read?

In which occurs an Illuminated Ramble with a Reading Lamp

It's the sort of question that will be around for as long as books (and has been). One that has started numerous debates and devolved into a lot of childish shouting. Especially when people start bringing up the type of stories one *should* read. 

I am not going to wander down those paths however because there are plenty of opinions and people out there already. Plus, returning to my title "Death by Bookshelf" well, I wanted to focus on what reading has allowed me to do in a potentially detrimental sense to my self-confidence (or rather what it has not done). To clarify. I read because I love to. It is home. It is comforting. It is safe. It is just me and the characters for however long I desire. That's certainly all well and good but what if you get to a point where all you do every day is read? What if what you are reading is not "high quality" on the scale of published, classic, cult, pop-culture or teen obsession? What then? Is reading bad for you then?

That question has been circling me for the past few months since I finished my schooling and I am living in a limbo of "what do I do next?" even as I heal my wrist so I can get back to completing my ARCT for piano and the last theory exam. Internet has been a cursed blessing. One which allowed me as an Introvert to get involved with people (if only after lurking for a while first). Two, it is a black hole of endless searching and generally of finding all sorts of things to read. I've discovered old alchemic algorithms and gone through various ancient Greek and Roman texts plus some Old English ones too. 

I've spent hours amusing myself on a never-ending trail of literary tropes on the excellent tvtropes.org. Lord of the Rings fan sites was where it really began however and that led me to fanfiction and a particular LOTR fanfic series by two authors that was so large (and well written in the eyes of angst-ridden 13-18 year olds) that it had spawned a forum of fans. It was there, after lurking for a bit that my online persona or the wacky person I am beneath my tendency to hide behind my hair, that I started feeling connected to like-minded individuals. I started seeing how I let certain people step all over me in real-life. Thi shower came after secretly being obsessed with Lord of the Rings since the final movie installment in 2003. It took five years after that point, before I asked for the extended editions for Christmas and I told my mom rather shyly that I loved Lord of the Rings. She wasn't disapproving, or snide, as I had imagined in my head, in fact she loved it; having a small by deep love for the power of those books and then the movies. 

Thus, reading fanfiction led to me finding a lot of people I still keep in touch with and becoming more sure and open about my likes and dislikes. I admit I still hate choosing things or stating opinions to a degree but now I recognize much of it was, and still is, out of a fear of rejection. Learning to embrace fear is an on-going project for me lately and this is where I say I wonder sometimes if my love of reading is only acerbating it. 

Not to mention, in recent years, perhaps because I have spent the last five being required to read heavy literature for my degrees that I leaned more on the comforts of stories in my favourite fandoms like Lord of the Rings (and the extended arenas provided by The Silmarillion and The Hobbit). Others were the hundreds of anime I have watched, BBC's Sherlock is second to LOTR, the Marvel universe and the few bits that exist of some of my favourite fantasy series like Dragonlance, Forgotten Realms, or the Discworld. I lean toward quality fiction, often the novella or novel length sort and though I will admit to reading well-written fiction that goes AU (Alternate Universe) or pairs up non-canon characters, I prefer the stories to be as close to canon as possible. 

All that said, I am left with the unanswered questions of whether all this reading of published literature and lurking in fandom fanfic sites and forums is doing me any benefit? I have had people say if I enjoy it, then it is not a waste. But what if I have the niggling feeling I should be accomplishing something more "useful"? What constitutes as something "useful"? 

High school report card? I don't care now. Gandalf and Bilbo though...

This whole blog was a hard thing to start as past blogs I have played around with and eventually deleted were role-plays (RP's) of my original characters or my original universe. I always considered blabbing on blogs about my personal thoughts to be a waste and it probably is. However, I am done making excuses like that which ultimately return to the root known as Fear. I'll blab on here probably more than one should for a blog. I am also probably breaking all the rules of what constitutes the instant-success blog. Nonetheless, the one thing I have learned by all my reading is that, at skeleton, at heart, all stories are the same. They are all about individuals making mistakes and facing the consequences of those mistakes. The mistakes vary their impact, they vary in bad and good consequences, they vary in how the characters react and interact according to those mistakes but ultimately, the farm boy doesn't get the sword without leaving his village, the mystery doesn't get solved until the detective starts asking questions; nothing of note happens until the protagonist starts to move.

So with all that I will leave you with some simple but important words from my favourite anime/manga of all time:

Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood Episode 3 Quote

Lover of Long Walks,

Moony

Death by Bookshelf Part 1 of 3

What do you do when down? Whether down is a sprained ankle or concussion, feeling bored or medically depressed. How do you stride through that stint of molasses, a food item which is only pleasant when paired with the words "gingerbread" or "mincemeat pies."

I read.

Nose in a Book

Yes. I read. I know, I know, I even left space for the proverbial, literary crickets to chirp. I always read. What's so special? My profile labels me as a Bookworm after all. Then again, if it is something I always do it obviously gives me comfort so why not do it when I am down, in whatever form that happens to take for me? (Sorry, nosey people physically in my life like to fill space with pestering me with questions centering around the theme of "don't you read too much?").

No. You can never, ever read too much. The world sits between your fingers. Worlds you never dreamed of sit there too. This post today jumps near the theme of moderation, and just what reading too much could be defined as, or at least as close to that as I can get since reading too much equates to the amount of vegetables one must consume before being told they ate too many. (Which is to say, I don't actually know the limit and have not taken the time to scour medical journals for the numerals). 

(EDIT: As this post is getting rather long for sensible attention spans on silly rambles so the actual death by bookshelf will be approached eventually, like terrified cat dangling off a cliff). (Which is to say, I might not even approach it because dangling cats of cliffs is for cruel people who don't belong here). (Which is to also say, I ramble. I try to be tidy but then I ramble. Expect this ship of posts to hit the Rocks of Rambling Off the Theme. My professors lamented this tendency but could to little to improve it).

Before I get to that climactic point however I have a few things to ramble about in order to provide some context (EDIT: See, I have mentioned the infamous "R" word already *cue Jaws music*):

What type of books do I read?

How do I read?

When/where do I read? 

Why do I read?

As you may or may not have conjectured from my brief sidebar bio, I am the sort of person who walks into a bookstore and immediately gravitates toward the section labeled "Fantasy&Sci-Fi." 95% of the time I read a book it will fall under one of those two genres; the other 5% goes to a period when I did read historical fiction, read what high school requires and spent 4 years as an English and Classics major which covered ancient literature (poetry, plays and novels) and literature through the range of 500 to 100 years old. Plus I have a smatter of mainstream bits like "The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo" or "The Da Vinci Code." I've probably missed something but there are too many subgenres to follow (because we humans love labels...but that's for another day's rant). Oh, thinking of subgenres reminds me I may as well mention here that yes I take as much pleasure reading Japanese manga and light novels, as I do quality fanfiction against things like Dickens' "Bleak House" or Neil Gaiman's "Neverwhere." 

Who ever said "don't judge a book..." etc never saw this beauty.

Asking "how" is always the weird question, the tricky one that gets you blank looks from teenagers who hate English class because they were cornered into believing there is only one right answer and therefore everything to do with the class is boring because who wants to think more than necessary anyway? Cheers for the self-fulfilling circle of boring English class. (Which I will admit to feeling numerous times despite being someone who would choose a book over a friend...usually). So how I read books needs to get broken into a series of steps under the columns of: Do I want to read this book? Did someone tell me to read this book? 

If I want to read a book then I have all the time in the world to get through it, be there library overdue fees or me sticking the book on hold after returning it so I can get it for another period of 3 weeks times 3 (renewals). These books I approach with the aplomb of a hot summer's day and anticipation of cooling off as fast as possible in the pool/lake. That is to say, as soon as I get my hands on it I go into my room or sit in my favourite chair, ignore this reality and enter the one in the book. Sometimes however even books I choose, that are by favourite authors, or my type of tale, just don't grab me so I might read a few chapters, come up for air, and return at a more leisurely pace, which in the case of a few, particularly lately, means I have done a lot of library renewing and requesting of holds.

On the other side of the spectrum, there sits on the white picket fence the someone who told me to read the book. Now welcome the earwig called pressure regardless of that someone (or something) being a a friend, a teacher, a professor, a class, a course, a bookclub or for personal growth that someone thinks I need...(Aren't those people pesky? I could spend a whole post talking about how to cope with those individuals, especially as an Introvert, which doesn't mean I don't have my own strong opinions, thank you very much, I just don't go bellowing them from rooftops all day long). 

Pressure does not make for enjoyable book reading, unless you find a rope to grab on to that comes in the form of realizing the book is totally your type, or the book does have some valid things to say and you are all about being open-minded, or you can respect it for the technical genius and motivation required to write it. These books are usually the ones that get me library fines, or me doing a lot of renewing because there are other reasons for me having to get through them aside from me wanting to. Occasionally though, a book grabs me as if I had chosen it and those days are brilliant surprises. For example, Horace Walpole's silly "The Castle of Otranto" or Elizabeth Gaskell's "Society at Cranford" both of which were among my university reading list.

Before discovering Library Book Sales.

When and where I read is quite as simple as comfort and focus. Sometimes a bus does fine and other times the kitchen window seat when I am home with my very large family is even better. Mostly however, a bed or my favourite corner chair, also at home, are the best for diving into other worlds and character's heads. As I am sure you spotted my EDIT earlier on I will leave this first part on books to you with the following questions: What type of books do you read? Is it very specific or are you everywhere at once? Do you go through stages where you prefer one type of book for a long time, and then you don't go near it for years after? How do you read? That is a massive question I know. I only dinted the drywall with my explanations of how I read. After all there are the semantics, the whisper of alliterations, the out-loud laughter on early morning bus rides or carrying the book around like some little kids do blankets.

Vegetables might be Books for the Body but Book are Chocolate Covered Vegetables for the Heart, Mind and Spirit.

After 3 Years of Attending Library Book Sales.

May your Nose Alway Occupy A Book.

Moony. 

(P.S. No, I do not treat my books like that on a daily basis. Blasphemy! That was a "Clean the Dust off Shelves" Day and I was amused to realize I now have enough books I can practically bury my bed in them. Not my cat though, she makes her own space).