Anyone who knows me knows I'm addicted to reading. What you may not know is I'm fussy about actual paper books and dislike e-reading. I don't even enjoy audiobooks very much, because the voice of the narrator never matches the voice I hear in my head when I'm reading. I love the feel, smell, heft, and sound of books.
Last night, books invaded my dreams. Not just one dream, but several, throughout the night. Details are fuzzy, but I recall one where someone told me the city of Guelph had decided to become the oasis and refuge for books (implying maybe books weren't safe elsewhere?) and I should move there. In one, I opened a physical-books-only bookstore and considered calling it either "Stick in the Mud" or "Hardcopy." (Which would you choose?) And I have a vague recollection of our old church we're renovating playing a role somewhere, but it had morphed in the dream and now had a big auditorium and crowds of people and I was to give a book reading.
I'm supposing all of this was triggered by the fact that I finally got the library book I've had on hold for ages, Susanna Kearsley's The King's Messenger. All I want to do is curl up and devour it, but alas, there are other demands on my time. If you haven't tried Susanna's books, please do. They're the perfect blend of action, romance, a whiff of the paranormal, intriguing history, and meticulous research. They're also clean, and she guarantees a happy ending. Which we could all use about now.
