Monday, September 28, 2009
For my birthday, some friends got me a gift certificate to Barnes and Nobles (a bookstore). I carved out a leisurely two hours to spend it last week. The only thing on my agenda was perhaps some poetry, and a tai chi CD. For a bibliofile like myself, this was pure bliss. My husband and I go to bookstores for our datenights. Having two hours alone in a bookstore is like lovemaking for my mind. Every time I'm in a bookstore, that phrase reverberates in my head, 'write the books you want to read.' I compose many a book in my head, when I'm in a bookstore it's a reminder that many people write books- even ordinary people like me- it can be done. I'm reminded of this especially when I peruse the romance section and don't find the genre of romance that I like. I have better luck in the poetry section and pick up a slim volume of Charles Bukowski. I find several vegetarian cookbooks, but choose instead a couple of cooking magazines. One is full of Italian recipes, and I feel another cultural cooking binge coming on. With my French and Mexican binges behind me, it may be time to go Italian. I stop to look at the language books. Learning Spanish has been on my to do list for years. I pass them by to look at the self help books- another favorite of mine. I also peruse the classics (novels) and healthy lifestyle shelves. I dabble in the music section- I'm not really buying music, just books, that I can see and hold and smell. Finally with my mind made up, I take the escalators back upstairs to pick up four blank books. I tell myself I'll get started on the books I'm supposed to write. I have so little time at the computer for writing, the blank books I can slip into my purse and write anytime I feel the urge. There's a writer in me trying to emerge, one of my many voices trying to be heard.