So here I am, reviewing books again.
It's been two and a half years, which probably means over 500 missed titles while I've been gone, some good, some bad, some forgettable.
Actually, looking through some of my old posts I'm surprised at myself - how some of the ones I seem to have loved the most have faded from memory while some of the stinkers are still in my head, taking up space. Interesting how that works out.
I cannot remember a single day of my adult life that I did not read. At the very least, it's how each day ends: whatever book is on my night stand gets as many pages read as possible before my eyes start to flutter. Books are also my companion in my almost-daily baths, a quiet time of luxury and escape into a world of words that I can never get enough of.
I find that I have missed having a record of what I've read, and also missed being able to share the truly good ones with people who might appreciate them. Even more, I've missed my fellow readers helping to shape my shopping list, and passing me THEIR stellar recommendations. There aren't enough book lovers in my circle of friends, there aren't enough in the world, and I suppose I crave having this little niche available to me when I need to rave or rant about something I've lovingly placed on my shelf, or angrily thrown out the window.