Writers as Readers

My ideal reading spot is on a blanket in the shade when the weather allows. If that's not possible or I'm not feeling up to going outside, I can manage to accidentally read half of a book just stretched out on the couch with a particular blanket and my cat tucked away in the crook of my leg. Candles are usually lit and it's mid morning on a lazy day. Ideally, the house is empty and the blinds are open, but I enjoy it just as much listening to my family cook. I would seriously not complain about a hammock on the beach though...

My sophomore year I went to New York City in the springtime. I returned a week later with half of my suitcase loaded with books. One is from St. Mark's (How Music Works by David Byrne) and the others are from McNally Jackson. 

 When I came back from my trip, I was having a pretty rough time with anxiety and the usual residual PTSD junk, so I would just finish up my useless geometry homework and run out to the yard to try and hastily throw myself into the hundred dollars worth of books. Since then my best reading days have been spent in my house alone on Saturday mornings. I'll wake up at 9 a.m., read until 2 p.m., get to work by 3, and come back at 11:30 p.m. to pick up where I left off until I fall asleep. 

Tell the Wolves I'm Home by Carol Rifka Brunt and The Price of Salt by Patricia Highsmith were the recent page-turners for me. It's a magical thing for a book to keep my attention longer than half an hour because I usually skip around and dip into two or three different worlds at a time. I invested so much of my interest into the characters in The Price of Salt, I just wanted to see what trouble they would find next and the way Highsmith writes is like shopping for little romantic snippets. Every page is an isle. Tell the Wolves is the same way but it was something I could closely relate to. The main character is going through the day to day function/cycles of loss and happiness just like I am. It was just nice to read that I'm not just being a big baby.

I haven't had a chance to invest my soul into a book series since I was around 12-14, but there are two that remain with me. The Warrior Cats  series by Erin Hunter really kept me reading from 5th grade up until I was supposed to start high school. I really had a thing for wild animal books back then. Warriors led me to The Sight and the sequel Fell, by David Clement-Davies. I never actually finished Fell, and I don't think I ever will because that's something I never wanted to end even though I skipped around in the first book. But I mean really, what could be cooler than prophetic wolves with scary paranormal powers? Talking deer, which is why I also became obsessed with Fire bringer, and could be part of the reason I have such an affinity with antlers.


When I finished reading The Price of Salt I was thrilled that I'd finally found a romance novel about elegant women that didn't end in tragedy or something enforced by the publishing company. I don't want to give too much away, but this book had a very satisfying ending that can probably never be topped, in my opinion.