Can a reading list kill you?

Remember that lofty reading list our charmingly quirky and beloved heroine of this blog (which—ahem—would be me!) set out for herself at the beginning of the year?

Thirty books in a year. A mixture of re-reads, classics, non-fiction, best-sellers, and old favorites.

Well, dear ones, our beloved heroine might be struggling at bit.

She might be mired, stuck, drowning in two books at this moment. .  .

But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. To really read something,  is to invest in it, internalize it, ingest it. That takes time. It takes effort and dedication.

Or that may just be our charming heroine trying to make herself feel better.

The facts are this: In the 5 months of this year, she has read 11 books. To finish 30, she’s going to have to pick it up. Books are awesome little glimpses into other peoples’ minds. Words are beautiful gifts.

The moral of this tale? I might not make my reading goal this year, but I’m going to enjoy the journey.

Now, go read a book.