Random reader.

            I’ve currently read every book in my house with the exception of two I just can’t get into.  It doesn’t happen often that I simply can’t finish a book; usually I will sludge through because it’s sitting there staring at me.  But for some reason I can’t force myself start one of them (The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo) and have no interest in finishing the other (City of Fallen Angels).  That reminds me, I need to return the latter to a friend.

            So last night while my husband was attempting to sail through a storm during the Wednesday night races, I curled up in bed with four of my favorite books and read forty or so pages from each.   The excerpts were random selections, all four beginning in the middle of a chapter I flipped to arbitrarily.  Granted, these are books I’ve read several times; there are no surprises and I know the characters well.  But there is something about dropping in on a story that makes it feel new and exciting.

Though I planned to finish only a chapter in each, I soon found it was ten o’clock and definitely my bedtime.  A sizeable portion of each story devoured, I lay in bed thinking about what it is that makes these books so hard to put down.  After all, the writing styles couldn’t be more different; the subject matter isn’t the same; some are part of an ongoing series and others are stand-alone works.  Regardless, I love them all and it probably won’t be the last time I read them, even in an incomplete manner.

One day soon I hope someone will be lying in bed reading one of my books, unable to put it down.   Though I’m sure I’ll have my fair share of readers who can’t force themselves to start or finish too.  In the meantime, and until I can make it to the bookstore, I’ll settle for some more random reading of my old standbys.  And I’ll keep dreaming of the day I see one of my books situated on the shelf settled amongst my favorites.