When it comes to reading fiction, I have no self-control. I tell myself novels are meant to be read over a series of days. I do not have to engulf an entire novel in one setting. It is fun when the characters linger at the edges of my mind, waiting for me to return.
Each time I start a new novel, it is a race to see how fast I can finish. Just one more page. One more chapter. Then another one. Then another one. Then another one.
What? What’s that you say?
No, it can’t be two in the morning.
But I’m not finished. There’s more to read. These characters are keeping me up. I have to know what happens next.
And so it goes. I read like a wolf eats. It isn’t pretty, but it is my reading life.
(PS: I’m typing this while eating morel mushrooms my parents found and shared. Yum!)
Unhurried. Finding the magic in the middle of living. Capturing a life of ridiculous grace + raw stories.