When I began this blog three years ago and named it A Life In Books, I was thinking how the track of my life–its daily happenings and goings-on–could be followed fairly easily by looking at the books that came across my desk.* Some of them were books I was reading as research for a new writing project, or books I was reading for pleasure, or books I was reading to my kids. Others were books recommended by friends or colleagues, books written by friends and colleagues, or books I stumbled upon quite by accident and which, glancing quickly, seemed out of place in my stacks. There is an interesting mix of intention and whimsy in the piles of books that surround me on any given day, and I still think sharing them could be an interesting way of sharing myself … if only I could find the time to do the job justice.
Seriously. Too many books. Too little time.
Looking over my blog posts for the last few months, for example, I am totally bummed at the many pages missing (so to speak) from My Life in Books. Did I not blog about Frommer’s WASHINGTON, D.C. … or even the DC trip itself? Did I never write an ode to ROGET’S THESAURUS … even after communing with it daily for two weeks as I sculpted the nineteen tight, tight, tight paragraphs of the BUTTERFLYING manuscript? Have I still not blogged about HOW WE KNOW WHAT WE KNOW ABOUT OUR CHANGING CLIMATE? And GRANNY TORRELLI MAKES SOUP? Oi.
Deep breath.
Anyway. Just thought I’d let you know that my blog is officially three years old this month, and that one day soon** I hope to go all Complete and Unabridged.
* The title also referred, of course, to the fact that I hoped to spend the rest of my life in books: writing and sharing them with the world. But this more obvious meaning has always felt secondary to me.
** I am using the term soon loosely, of course.