My normal reading genre is the typical fictional murder mystery. You know what I mean- the ones always one display at K-mart or Walmart or Smiths or wherever. Patricia Cornwell, David Baldacci, James Patterson, John Sandford, Iris Johansen, Jonathan Kellerman, Allison Brennan, and many many more. Then I throw in the occasional "horror" genre of Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Richard Laymon and the like. But in all reality, most of my absolute favorite books have actually been recommendations from friends where they let me borrow the book. Some examples of these would be:
"The Sparrow" by Mary Doria Russell, recommended by Wendy
"Swan Song" by Robert McCammon, recommended by both Laci and Chad
"Mother" by Linda Ann Rentschler, recommended by Chris
"The Innocent Man" by John Grisham, recommended by Ben
Those are just some examples. There are a few more that I love that have been recommended to me, but I can't think of more right now. I am now reading one that was given to me by my lovely friend Wendy. It's called "Eat Pray Love", by Elizabeth Gilbert. Now keep in mind that my friend Wendy follows Oprah's book list religiously, so please don't hold it against me that I'm reading an Oprah-recommended book...... I just read whatever is handed to me. Anyways, I'm actually really liking this book. There are a few things that hit home with me and make me think about certain ways that I deal with situations and how I view myself. There are two excepts that I love that I wanted to share since they are written so well that I find myself in love with the words. Disclaimer- the second one is a bit cheesy about giving yourself strenght and building yourself up. And remember- I did NOT write these, I'm just quoting them from the book.
"Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted- an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement. Soon you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie. When the drug is withheld, you promptly turn sick, crazy and depleted (not to mention resentful of the dealer who encouraged this addiction in the first place but who now refuses to pony up the good stuff anymore- despite the fact that you KNOW he has it hidden somewhere, goddamn it, because he USED TO GIVE IT TO YOU FOR FREE.) Next stage finds you skinny and shaking in a corner, certain only that you would sell your soul or rob your neighbors just to have THAT THING even one more time."
And the second one needs some explanation- for self-help reasons she starts writing to herself in a notebook (kinda like talking to yourself outloud) and I'm cutting a bunch of it out in order to type just the basics:
"I write: 'I need your help.' Then I wait. After a little while, a response comes, in my own handwriting: 'I'm right here. What can I do for you?' At the beginning of my spiritual experiment, I didn't always have such faith in this internal voice of wisdom. I remember once reaching for my private notebook in a bitter fury of rage and sorrow, and scrawling a message to my inner voice- to my divine interior comfort- that took up an entire page of capital letters: 'I DO NOT FUCKING BELIEVE IN YOU!!!!!!!!' After a moment, still breathing heavily, I felt a clear pinpoint of light ignite within me, and then I found myself writing this amused and ever-calm reply: 'Who are you talking to, then?' I walked into an office building one afternoon in a hurry, dashed into a waiting elevator. As I rushed in, I caught an unexpected glimpse of myself in a security mirror's reflection. In that moment my brain did an odd thing- it fired off this split-second message: 'Hey! You know her! That's a friend of yours!' And I actually ran forward toward my own reflection with a smile, ready to welcome that girl whose name I had lost but whose face was so familiar. In a flash instant, of course, I realized my mistake and laughed in embarrassment at my almost doglike confusion over how a mirror works. But for some reason that incident comes to mind again tonight during my sadness in Rome, and I find myself writing this comforting reminder at the bottom of the page: 'Never forget that once upon a time, in an unguarded moment, you recognized yourself as a friend.'
My goodness, people- I LOVE those thoughts! Most excellent, I must say. Sorry, but I just wanted to share something with you that means something to me. Now I'm going to finish my salad and do some more work.