I'm stuck. I've found myself in a reading rut and I'm not sure what to do about it. Yes, I know I should just grab a book and get going, but I am without direction. I began John Grisham's A Painted House because it was here. A couple chapters into it, I laid it down and went outside to paint my house. I don't think that was the author's point.
I've been trudging through Son of A Witch for months now. Months. It's almost like when I read John Irving's A Widow For One Year and it took me a bloody year to read it. And I paid retail for it. Double drat. I really enjoy Mr. Irving's books, but not for that length of time.
Looking at the table next to my bed, I have a Don DeLillo, a thick chunk of a book called Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, The Dress Lodger by Sheri Holman, Simplicity's Simply the Best Sewing Book and Olivia and the Missing Toy. I also have Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. I see Dumbledore's hand and Harry's glasses in the book jacket illustration and I sit here longing for the last installent of the Rowling epic. It all just comes down to me sitting here, twiddling my thumbs as I await young Mr. Potter on his final adventures.
I guess I should grow up and read something deep and life-altering.
OR I should just wait for July.