I’m writing this little book blog to talk about something I love, books, to the people I love; some random internet bibliophiles, and my mom, (although she was only a maybe.) Here’s my gift to you.

I’ve found that some of the deepest connections I’ve made with people came through books. Discussing the couple of worn down old volumes a person keeps closest to their heart seems, to me, one of the fastest ways to form a friendship, and a deeper, longer lasting one than you’d find on Facebook too. Sometimes I have to stipulate FB doesn’t count as a real book, and if the chuckle-head can’t think of anything else after their clever one liner, we don’t necessarily get to be close.

If I can start someone down a new trail with a title they’ve never heard before, great, and if I can offer fond memories inspiring someone to go back and revisit a dusty tome in the most antiquated and arcane sector of their collection, that’ll be great too.

So yes, I’ll being writing about the books that have and will continue to touch me emotionally, in the hope that someone else will come along to tell me that they too cried at the end of  all them books and so maybe I’m not crazy, and you wouldn’t be either dear reader. No one can call us crazy!

Not as long as we have our books.


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