Booking Through Thursday
Do you think any current author is of the same caliber as Dickens, Austen, Bronte, or any of the classic authors? If so, who, and why do you think so? If not, why not? What books from this era might be read 100 years from now? I think about this question from time to time, particularly as I peruse the best seller shelves in my local bookstores.  After all, the authors we refer to as “classics,”

Booking Through Thursday
“Life is too short to read bad books.” I’d always heard that, but I still read books through until the end no matter how bad they were because I had this sense of obligation. That is, until this week when I tried (really tried) to read a book that is utterly boring and unrealistic. I had to stop reading. Do you read everything all the way through or do you feel life really is too short to read bad books? Once upon a time, I plowed through every book, no matter whether

Teaser Tuesday~With a Twist
In a slight twist to the Teaser Tuesday meme, where readers are invited to pick up their current read, turn to a certain page, and share a random paragraph, I  like to take a moment on Tuesdays and share a meaningful passage from the book that’s currently propped open on my bedside table. Psychological suspense thrillers aren’t known for the kinds of meaningful passages I like to share with y

The Longest Trip Home
Memoir has become the new “black” in publishing, hasn’t it?  Seems everyone and their uncle has a life story worth telling, a perspective they feel the world needs to know.  We have memoirs about life as drug addict or schizophrenic, about growing up with abusive parents, about growing up Mormon or Buddhist.  Memoirs about our pets – cats, dogs, pot-bellied pigs.  But don’t get me wrong – I’m something of a memoir-aholic.  I’m fascinated with people’s lives and what they make of them.  But a memoir must inspire me to reflect on my own life, strike a compassionate chord, illuminate some aspect of life in gener

The Sunday Salon- Consequences
I’ve always loved “fall back Sunday,” the day we set our clocks back one hour to mark the end of Daylight Savings Time.  In effect, we get an extra hour in the day, and for someone as perpetually time starved as I, it’s a real gift.  My 25 hour Sunday always seems luxuriously long, and that extra one hour sometime gives me the most expansive feeling – as if I’ve all the time in the world. Alas, even 25 hour Sundays come to a close, and it’s nearly that time already.  I had high hopes for the day and the things I wanted to do in it.  Some of them were fulfilled, other not…apparently even 25 hours in a day is not enough.