I don’t know about you, but I really really really want books around the holidays…
Now, I’m not talking cheap, warm, fuzzy Christmas novels. I just want regular books. Dickens. Tolkien. Zelazny. Christie. MacDonald. Lewis. Arthur Conan Doyle.
The good stuff.
I get out of school (or the end of the semester draws nearer) and I suddenly realize that, in addition to the endless list of books I want to read for FUN, I also have an endless list of books I want to buy. It’s a nasty, vicious circle…but it’s filled with so much pleasure.
Don’t get me wrong, I feel no guilt buying books. They are good to have and to read and to know. But I’m running out of space. One day I may end up like so many people before me, buried under a pile of my own stuff. What good would such a fate do me or anyone else?
But I digress.
This holiday season, what I’d really like to do is reread some Tolkien, get my hands on some of Roger Zelazny’s other stories, possibly try to finish the Pickwick Papers and maybe Nicholas Nickleby, finish Kidnapped, get and read a couple of the new Jim Butcher books, and work on my various writing projects.
Speaking of which, I have a top secret project under the wraps that’s just screaming for more of my brain…