The summer I was seventeen, I gave my life to Agatha Christie. Curling on the floor of my room, I read a book a day. I liked Hercule Poirot best, then Miss Marple, then Harley Quin. I did not care for Tommy and Tuppence. At the beginning of the summer, I felt as though I would …
I Won’t Say I Read Trashy Books Anymore—For The Mudroom
My friend Melissa has a way of being kind that also makes me think. We were out for coffee, talking about books. Specifically: about my anxiety about wanting to read more. By most measures, I read a lot, but with the advent of smart phones and parenthood, I read less then I used to. Recently, …
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I Confess: Reading Stresses Me Out
Okay, so this is weird. Reading stresses me out. It’s weird on so many levels. One: Reading is one of my favorite things to do. Two: I was an English major. Three: I read a lot. Conclusion: Weird. Maybe saying “reading” stresses me out isn’t specific enough. So let’s dig deeper. I get stressed that …