I am a published novelist and a rabid reader, but I've been stalled in both those areas. Between the cultural tumult and my almost-15-year-old dog's terminal kidney disease, I've become a worried political activist and an exhausted canine hospice caregiver.
I have two novels circulating to publishers through my agent (the newest of which deals with what we are going through right now), but since there is no discernable response, I see no point writing more . . . which nicely compliments my complete lack of inspiration.
Between my dog's IV drips and endless treks up and down my four flights of stairs to walk her, I found I cannot concentrate on reading new novels, let alone meeting new characters and remembering who everybody is. So suddenly my reading habit—a great source of joy—stalled.
In these incredibly dark days, I've found solace talking to people I've known since childhood. And, likewise, I realized I need books with a personal foundation already in place—books that I already know are outstanding, that I know will transport me, books that I trust because of my long history with them.
I have such books already on my shelves, but I also bought a couple. Read More