My name is L.
I used to love reading books. That is not to say that I stopped reading, but I stopped buying books by authors I didn’t recognize. The realization that I was spending $8-15 on paperbacks that were bloody awful upset me so much that I only bought books that I knew about beforehand and only from authors I recognized.
Then I starting living with M., and he got tired of me whining about how bored I was and how every time we went into a bookstore, I didn’t buy any books. Basically, he said “Buy a fucking book, L. We are not leaving this store until you have at least 2 books in your hands.”
So, I started buying books again. Unfortunately, this built up a small pile of books that I put down or threw at walls in frustration.
I decided to blog about what made a book unreadable or readable to me for venting purposes, and to practice writing. I do not write up my readings in a timely fashion because of laziness and agonizing over wording. Oddly, I hope to make this blog a bit more …. socialized, in spite of my reticence with regards to social media and the latest reviewing models like, Good Reads.