Biblio-Blues

Summer is the season for juicy paperback novels. You know the kind. The kind you can't bring yourself to pull out on the subway. The bad kind. The totally embarrassing kind. The kind you don't even want to read in front of your husband. Because he is a non-fiction/literature type; a Ralston-Saul-Rohinton Mistry-reading man who can crack walnuts with his enormous brain. He would not be interested in a book that could quite possibly kill brain cells. Unlike myself.

The latest book to strike my fancy is entitled Dead Until Dark by Charlaine Harris, and is the first book in The Southern Vampire Mysteries (yes, the same books that inspired HBO's True Blood). But getting my hands on this one is easier said than done. I can no longer zip into my local Chapters and stock up on some light reading with the leftover Christmas gift cards littering my wallet. Now I only have one place to go. And it's called the public library.

It will be a long time before Sookie Stackhouse and I are reunited. I'm number 44 in the queue. At this rate, I'll be able to author my own fan fiction, entitled Dead Until Your Fines Are Paid For That Damaged Copy Of The Very Hungry Caterpillar". Or something like that.