Five months ago, at the beginning of a Stay-at-Home quarantine that seemed like it belonged more in one of my dystopian novels than in my real life, I decided that I would post book reviews. This might have come after I re-read a book that I had no recollection of ever reading, but my Goodreads account assured me that I had, in fact, already read it. Maybe, I thought, book reviews will help me to keep track of my reading better? I always have been better on a test when I read the material as well as handwritten the notes. I secured this website, jotted down quotes from the book I was currently reading (Daisy Jones and The Six) and thought of numerous ways to tell the story behind the story.
On a side note - does anyone else get really good ideas while mowing the lawn? I'm not a shower thinker, like so many claim to be, but any kind of landscaping or lawn work really seems to get my brain moving
Then it was five months later. I've read dozens of books since Daisy Jones and the Six, and after each one I've had very good intentions of putting into writing the way the books made me feel. The thoughts that were swirling in my mind, the emotions they brought out.
But, nothing. Crickets.
I could blame Corona. That's the mantra in our house when we don't like some aspect of what seems to be our everyday life. Online schooling? Stupid Corona. The water park/library/mall is closed? Stupid Corona. The kids annual summer vacation to their Grandparents house canceled? Yep. Stupid Corona.
Part of my non-writing is due to stupid Corona. Stupid Corona has me feeling cooped-up and useless. I know that keeping up the morale and attitude of the two tiny humans and one other huge human who live in my house is a big job - one I am good at, one I can do with some teeth-gritted patience and a well placed pun. It is a worthy job, but not one I want to do everyday, for as long as this Groundhog day lasts.
But I still will blame stupid Corona for my non-writing, for it is much easier to blame a faceless virus, a beast in virus clothing than to say the ultimate truth. Which is that I started many book posts but I was scared to finish them. Scared of what, I couldn't really tell you. Scared, maybe, that my writing would go unnoticed by the majority, lost amid the thousands of other people doing the same. More scared, maybe, that it wouldn't go unnoticed. Scared that I would start something that would make an impact, that people could connect to, that would go noticed and reviewed - and I then wouldn't be able to deliver what they expected, or it would be mocked or degraded.
I decided today to just start. Just make that first move. It doesn't have to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good. It just needs to be done. A start, in whatever direction that may take me.
So, this is my blog. It's a blog about books that I've read - and I use the term 'read' to define any way that I immerse myself in a book. My kids may read the book to me. I may listen to it on audiobook, or only get halfway through and decided not to finish. Physical books, kindle books, overdrive. All get the same treatment, for it is all writing that someone decided was important enough to be put out there, in whatever way the reader chooses to read it.
This is a blog about books. It's a blog about the joy of reading. It is a blog full of personal emotions. I truly believe that some times people are placed in our lives for a purpose, and we may not know those reasons for hours, or months or years, but we will eventually understand as to why they were placed there. Books are the same for me. Books I read when I was 15 I can re-read again at 39 and they are still relevant - sometimes in different ways. The Catcher in the Rye was one of my favorite books in high school. It still is a favorite, but I read it now, in my so-called 'middle ages' with less head-nodding of 'Yes! Me too!" and more head-shaking cynicism.
I am a lover of the written word. I love to write it and I love to read it. In college my major was English Literature, for a I knew from an early age that words have power and meaning to me that I needed to explore. My double major was Psychology - understanding people and emotions is a fascinating way to see the world in a new way.
But my writing won't be perfect. I'll misuse words, dangle participles, write incomplete sentences and use hyphens way more than is necessary to most people. I'll mess up over and over again and I'm sure people reading this will need to correct me. I'm not perfect, I don't claim to be and I don't want to be. What I will do is my best to convey honestly what each book I post means to me, what I think about the story and the writing. What I felt when I started, and when I ended. You don't have to agree with me. In fact, I don't expect you to. The not agreeing is where the good stuff begins.
