I’m constantly in pursuit of my next good read. I poke and prod those around me, prying into what they’re reading, and I scour the New York Times and Washington Post ‘Best Books’ lists. My thought process for these posts are – what better way to get what you want than by giving it? So I give, to whoever seeks, a series dedicated to the books I bury myself in.
The satisfaction of creasing the spine of a new book, the words just waiting there on the pages, waiting for me to read them, as if they’re written just for me. The characters waiting for me to breathe life into them. Waiting for me to assemble their faces and devour their lives, their wishes and woes, their triumphs and tragedies.
Disappearing into these constructed worlds is such a big part of my world – and I know I’m not alone in this.