……where I walk into a bookstore, intent on buying one (one, I say!) particular title from one particular author.
What happens is, I will walk out with five books, by at least three different authors.
It never fails.
I don’t suppose for a minute I’m the only one who does this, and not just as a writerly type, either. I am a known bookworm, among my circle.
(No one has ever seen me without a book in my backpack. Or two. Sometimes three. Currently, I have five books in the back seat of my car. Yes, two of them are The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings. They are not my only copies. Don’t ask.)
I will spend a lot of time considering the title, feel the weight of the book in one hand, the texture of the pages or the binding, then look at the content. If I’m not interested, I will put it back, but some days, I weaken, the book is bought and ends up on my shelf, along with many other titles, waiting patiently for their turn at bat.
I may never read it. I have more books piled on my bookcase and nightstand to be read than I have read. It will take more than two lifetimes to simply catch up. I am aware, as I stand in the aisle of any given bookstore, that I need to simply put the book down and walk away.
I also know that I need to weed out the books I already have. I’ve done that, on numerous occasions. I have forty boxes of books in my garage. Some were read, some are still waiting with baited breath to have my attention.
And still, I will buy books.
I regret nothing.