Truemors
Taken for Flickr Group Roulette and the designated group, Sunday Confessional.
You caught me. Instead of working on my research paper due April 10, I've read the weekend away. I started Prey by Michael Crichton Friday morning, and I am mere pages from the finish line. There is no real weight to the book; it is primarily a suspense novel, but it will do. I read anything and everything I can get my hands on; newspaper ads, recipes, directions on the backs of various boxes. I read for the sake of reading and because, frankly, it is a huge pleasure for me. I'm like that man from an episode of "The Twilight Zone." Hopefully there won't be an apocalypse, for I too wear glasses.
Sure, I may mix in a little Hemingway here, Austen there, with a dash of Dickens throughout. But give me a book that captures my attention within the first page -- regardless of author, genre, or critical acclaim, and you have yourself a winner.
(Fellow bibliophiles may find this article interesting: Books and Compatibility.)
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