But, I have reading integrity and would never add my reading of US Weekly to my GoodReads log, even though I’ve read a shameful amount of US Weekly’s, cover to cover.
As a result of my goal and my integrity, I am beating myself up a bit about maybe not reaching my goal. However, real life is more important than imaginary life (as my parents would tell me when I would ignore them for weeks at a time binging on Nancy Drew books), so I know it is OKAY!
Everything is fine.
And to make excuses, but I am away from my natural environment without a car of my own and without much freewill!
We are in Ohio, visiting my husband’s very extensive extended family, and there is a lot of driving involved and socializing and rock climbing. Apparently, whenever we come to Ohio, we go rock climbing. I don’t know why. But this is what we do.
A family that climbs together is a family that MISSES THEIR GOOD READS GOAL BY A FEW BOOKS, apparently.
Okay, I know family rock climbing is more important that reading books about imaginary people who may or may not go rock climbing, right? I mean maybe this is right? I DON’T KNOW!
Anyway, I have been trying to maximize our multiple daily commutes to family socialization by reading. In the process, I discovered my newest author to binge: Beth Moran! I love her books—all set in and around and nearish the Sherwood Forest. I’ve read two (Let it Snow and Christmas Every Day) and I am on my third, “We Belong Together.” Moran’s characters are delightful—women in the midst of a chaotic struggle, not needing rescue, but definitely needing assistance. I’ve laughed at calamities and I’ve empathized with disasters and I’ve rooted for the main characters and I’ve even fallen in love with my husband a bit more. Books have this affect on me—like when a character finds their love match and the story is told in an authentic way by an author who knows how to write about how love feels, it awakens those feelings in me. It is a wonderful benefit of reading—even if it is an imaginary world.
So, I know it does not matter if I read 57 or 60 books this year; what matters is that I read and that I also lived in the midst of all the stories.
Still, I have to wrap up this blog and get back to my book (and tell my husband how much I love him and how he still gives me butterflies.).