I’m a reader, plan and simple. And if you read this blog at all you know that to be the case. Sometimes I think I talk about books too much, but whatever. As stated many times and in order to flex my intelligence (it’s my blog I’ll write what I want to) I can devour 800 page novels in a matter of day; I have an uncanny ability to remember passages from books that touched me long after I’ve put down the casing that held the words. I heart anything Margaret Atwood has ever written, searching used bookstores until I have all her works in hardcover.
I admire all writers, I guess its a little high and mighty to say that consider I’m a writer too. But my genre is poetry and essay writing so sometime I consider myself a different type of writer. Not the type I admire, not the type that can write a story and have me believing it, making me turn page after page as I dive deep into someone else’s imagination.
So imagine my complete delight that as I took part in Dive Bar’s Birthday Bash that I was able to get the interest of at least two other people in forming a book club… I’ve even started searching out reviews on Powell’s website to see what I can throw into the ring as possible literature to read. I usually read anything Powell’s recommends. I am, in fact, Powell’s bitch.
CW
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