My to-be-read pile is ridiculous. If I counted, which I haven’t in a while, I’d probably have 15-20 books waiting in my queue. But for some reason, I keep buying more. I’ve spoken many times about my uncanny affinity with books and how this obsession started. My parents were educators and as a child, our house was filled with books. This is not an exaggeration. The house was FILLED with books: volumes of encyclopedias, bibles, yearbooks, text books, self-help books and literature of all kinds. I’d spend hours searching through Childcraft Encyclopedias memorizing poetry and reading fantastic stories. My upbringing gave me a love for books that I cannot shake. Now, as an adult, my own home is overflowing with books. I have bookshelves in multiple rooms. And each of those bookshelves are bursting with books.
But again, I keep buying more. Just this week, I’ve purchased three novels. Daniel Black gave a fantastic author talk on his latest book, Isaac’s Song. I attended and got two of his books. I also picked up Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie‘s brand new novel, Dream Count, from my local book store. And I added all those to my ever growing to-be-read pile.
Books make me happy. So I certainly won’t stop buying them. Maybe once I retire I’ll be able to sit on my porch in a rocking chair, enjoying the breeze, and read each of my books.
