Yes, I am a bookaholic

Our writing group (http://bit.ly/GRRWG) has a book exchange every month.  Books for Bucks.  Contribute a book you no longer need (ha! like that’s likely in a group of writers) and buy someone else’s for a dollar.  All money goes to the treasury.

Every month I send out a reminder and pick a handful of paperbacks to take along to the meeting.  It’s like drawing blood from one of my children.  It hurts.

Yes, I know I have too many books.  Too many bookshelves.  But the world is conspiring against us bookaholics.  There’s always a library sale.  And the bookstore’s discount table.  And don’t even get me started about www.paperbackswap.com! Everywhere I go, there’s a book begging me to take it home.

I grit my teeth, think of DH’s disapproval (not really) and remember the towering TBR pile spread across the house.  Sometimes, I’m successful in resisting the temptation.  Sometimes, I’m not.

How do you resist the urge to “buy one more”?

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A writing retreat

This weekend marks my writing group’s (http://bit.ly/GRRWG) semi-annual retreat.  We rent a bed and breakfast and hunker down for hours of writing, eating, drinking and talking, not necessarily in that order.  The action moves, sometimes on the porch, around the library table or in the living room.  We pitch in for Chinese food for one meal and pizza for another.  Potluck rounds out the rest.  Believe me, no one has ever gone hungry.

This time, I’m only driving up for the day.  DH and I are on a mini-vacation next week, and I’d rather spend time and money with him (sorry girls.) I’m planning on deconstructing last winter’s NaNo project and find out what’s needed to finish it.  I’ll also bank a blog entry or two over at www.writerslikeme.com.

Do you regularly slip away for uninterrupted writing time?  If not, what would be your dream retreat?  (pool boy optional, of course)

Take care,

Cheryl

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Tossed out of the library

It’s not every day that you’re asked to leave the library.  I wasn’t doing any harm.  No shouting, arguing about overdue fines or practicing my own version of the Dewey Decimal System.  Julie Andrews and I were quietly spending some time together before I picked up DH from work.

But there was a dimness to the light I didn’t notice as I sat next to a wall of windows.  An annoying electronic beeeeep punctuated the silence.

The power had gone out.  No storms thundering overhead, but it’s a brand new building, so I assume two wired crossed.  Or didn’t.  We were politely asked to leave.  My main concern was checking out “Home” by Julie Andrews and “The Story of Edgar Sawtelle” by David Wroblewski, but it was handled manually by the librarians.

Where have you been asked to leave?

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