I’ve been away in France buying books, but life’s been a touch more mundane than that. On the accomplishment side of things, I turned in my second novel to Ravenous Romance, a fantasy entitled Desire’s Pursuit that the start of a four-part series. It was hard work, but wonderfully rewarding. I’m about to start the second volume, which will return me to the craziness of immersing myself in a fantasy world for a some hours most every day of the week.
Somehow, I have to figure out how to blog both here and at Pursed Lips at least a couple of times a week. No more once every few weeks, damn it!
That said, what did I mean about France and book-buying? Well, a recent episode of CBS Sunday Morning included a story about book shopping in Paris, covering everything from your obsessive bibliophile to the odd-job, eccentric raconteur known as a book scout but ultimately portrayed Paris as center of the book-selling universe.
Honestly, this kind of story waxes completely romantic for me. It beckons me. Bibliophile that I am, I’ve added Paris to the Book Trips I Want to Make over the next decade. Why? Because I love hunting for books. I love the pursuit, scanning piles for elusive titles. I love the rush of joy I feel when I spot a find and take it into hand.
Don’t let my modern propensity for the e-book fool you. While I embrace New Tech, I still love the Old Form. So much so that I must see Paris before I die.