"Don't look for obscure formulas or mystery in my work. It is pure joy that I offer you." -- Constantin Brancusi
I am absolutely loving that I can look back at all the books that I've read since November. I can see how my reading ebbs and flows. I can see my wild genre swings. It's like a personal reading diary, but public. I love seeing all the comments from people (those I've met in person and those I haven't met, they're all great!).
Taking a look at my reading, I've noticed something: I read some crap! I haven't picked up anything that could be classified as "High literature." And that's okay. Because the books I've read, whatever the genre, bring me joy. I love reading whether it's children's literature (Hello Percy Jackson! Love you!) or Christian fiction (At the Scent of Water, anyone?) or zombie schlock (A Zombie's History of the United States) or contemporary romance (Under Cover). I love it all. There's no deeper meaning to these books. I don't have to ponder over the intent of the author. I don't have to read a critical review of the book to understand. I just read them and love the stories. I love the characters. I love the settings. I love the books for the joy that they bring me. So up next Love Finds You in Treasure Island, Florida, just for a light romance. That's it. Just for joy!
