Over my lunch hour I started and put down three books. That doesn’t include the three books I started reading at some point in the past month or two that I haven’t finished. Quite simply, nothing is holding my attention. I’m not in the mood for any of the stuff in my leaning tower of TBRs. Not that I have any idea what I’m in the mood for, mind you, just that what’s available right now in my house isn’t it. I am listless and apathetic and totally uninterested in reading–which is alarming and shocking and not normal. If books are friends, then I have become astoundingly anti-social in the last four months.
Well, that got me thinking–the whole notion that books are friends. You know how you have different friends for different purposes? You’ve got your Go To friend, who is the perfect all around pal that you can tell anything or do anything with. You’ve got your Shopping Buddy, who is happy to lightheartedly hit the sales with you. There’s your Guy Troubles/Let’s Dish friend to whom you can complain about boyfriend/spouse and know it won’t be taken the wrong way. There are Hobby friends, with whom you share an interest. There’s the Philosopher, with whom you can go off on intellectual tangents about the meaning of life. The list goes on, but you get my point. In life we have all kinds of friends. The same is true in books.
We have those authors who are on our automatic buy list, whom we read and love at any point. For me that’s Nora. And I need new material! I’ve read all of hers.
We’ve got the light-hearted funny chick lit kinda read: Katie MacAlister. Again, read ’em all.
We’ve got the more historical bent: Diana Gabaldon
Paranormal: also Katie
Suspense: Tami Hoag
The sexy read: (I don’t actually have a specific go to for this)
Young adult: Stephenie Meyer, L.J. Smith
Again, the list goes on.
I’m just in a funk, I guess. I think maybe I’m in mourning because mine’s finished for now and off to beta readers. I think I’ll make some notes on my next project and start working out the details of the plot.