All I wanted to feel this year was a sense of ambient doom, it seemed, and the books I’ll remember in the future are those that delivered, and then some.
It wasn’t until I saw my husband almost trip multiple times as he tried to make his way through the obstacle course that I knew that I had a book problem.
I’m honored to blurb other authors and support them. But I’ve had to figure out techniques for myself so I can read and write and keep joy in my heart for both.
...including that book of Don DeLillo short stories that I swear is climbing out of giveaway boxes and following us, Toy Story-style, across the country.
I’ve done this exactly once since my daughter was born. I ended up reading about infant dementia for an hour. I don’t recommend that article to anyone.
This year, I read in twos. Maybe this is always happening and I just started noticing. I also have a brain that’s unrepentantly hungry for patterns, so who knows.