I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.
–Neil Gaiman, The Ocean at the End of the Lane
Unlike last year, I am not exactly at the top of my [reading] game this year. At least, not lately. Before I got my oven, I was usually at least 3 or 4 books ahead of schedule. But ever since I started baking and selling brownies on the side, my reading time has been cut back drastically. Not that I’m complaining. But still.
It looks like for the first time since I started, I might not be able to meet my goal number of books to be read. Sad thought. I could always lower the target number of books, but that feels like an admission of defeat.
Haven’t read in a few days.
Just how did I not know that a new Anne Rice book about my beloved Vampire Chronicles just came out?
It’s no secret online or off that I am an incurable bookworm. About 95% of my tweets are status updates of my reading progress on Goodreads. There is even a widget on the footer of this blog for displaying the cover of whatever book I am currently reading. I am forever on the lookout for new titles and sequels to the book series I like. I forego precious sleep when I am too engrossed in what I’m reading. But my (book) world came crashing down when this happened: