After a long and fun vacation seeing friends and family, I am thrilled to be back at my little desk, type-typing away on all things YA.
I've updated my reading list, starting fresh as of yesterday (you can still check out my 2011 list above), and thanks to my trusty Nook and the ever-growing e-pub selection at the Chicago Public Library, I'm breezing through books (except for The Golden Bowl, which I've been reading since October. Omg Henry James, I get that they're having an affair! You don't have to psychoanalyze it for eight chapters!).
I'm looking forward to adding some new features to the blog, including book reviews, interviews, guest posts, and some other fun, top-secret surprises (top-secret because I want to build suspense or because I don't know what they are yet? Only you can decide!).
In the meantime, I'll leave you with one of my favorite writing spaces, William Faulkner's sun-drenched literary cabana. It is chilly and snowy in Chicago today, and while I like to think the austere setting makes for a more focused writing space, I wouldn't say no to a sunny deck, a lounge chair, and a typewriter with its own chaise.
|Those sunglasses! Those socks! That little old man paunch!|
Since when did William Faulkner become my grandpa?
He had a word, too. Love, he called it. But I had been used to words for a long time. I knew that that word was like the others: just a shape to fill a lack; that when the right time came, you wouldn't need a word for that anymore than for pride or fear.
-As I Lay Dying, 1930