Good Reads on Goodreads

I have a bad habit of trying to get organized. I call it a bad habit because I'm really good at the trying part, not so great at the getting organized part. I think if I were truly organized I could manage to stay that way. But I'm not. Hence I am in a continual state of trying.

In the spirit of getting back into this writing thing, I undertook a massive project: I cleaned off my desk. I told the WGH I should've taken before and after pictures so that everyone would appreciate the magnitude of my accomplishment. The relative neatness that now graces the grossly underutilized but quite lovely piece of furniture unearthed one of the piles of paper I'd been hoarding, a printout of the ebooks I've bought from Amazon and a corresponding list of those books I've read this year as recorded on my Goodreads profile for the 2018 Reading Challenge.

When I don't keep track of things, I wind up rather surprised with myself at how much I've actually done. My original challenge to myself was 50 books. To date I have recorded reading 61. I will admit that most of these are ebooks, despite the fact that I have at least three times as many actual books sitting on my many bookshelves in the study, awaiting my return to some semblance of normalcy, wherein I aspire to sit in my recliner and read. The obvious reason for the plethora of electronic books on my list is that when I finish reading one on my Kindle it automatically updates Goodreads. It's a no-brainer, and lately my brain has needed all the help it can get.

I won't go into details about every single one of the 61 books currently on the list, but as this blog is at least partially devoted to the discussion of ... well, books ... I thought I should give you my impressions of at least some of them.

Grief is a Funny Thing, Parts 1 & 2

Grief is a Funny Thing, Part 1

It’s not about me. Somewhere in the mid-1990s, the contemporary Christian group DC Talk had a hit called In the Light. If you’ll allow me to paraphrase some of the lyrics from that song, I am the queen of excuses. I’ve got one for everything I do – or in this case, everything I don’t do. And I use them. A lot. Thus begins the litany of the “reasons” I haven’t been writing, REALLY writing, for over three years.

I keep trying to convince you (and perhaps myself) that it goes back to my mother’s death in the summer of 2015. But here’s the thing. It does, and it doesn’t.