Recently I’ve been asked on multiple occasions why it is that I adore fiction books over classics

and my answer is simple.

I am human. I will always be human.

I experience all things normal in a human sense.

I would rather live a life of fantastic fiction, which I can whilst reading an amazing book.

I live a human life, never to go to some odd ball planet with weird mutations or live as an elf with a dragon companion. 

I will never stand in the Shire or become a tribute in the Hunger Games.

I will, however, be simply, beautifully, human.

Classics and non-fiction are astounding - they will always and forever have a place on my shelf.

I just want to be, if only for a little while, King Arthur as he goes on one of his kingly journeys.

Literary Confession time! What is your little secret about reading?

I want to hear a confession from all of you!

You can either message me your confession, submit it, or answer it on this post.

http://whispering-literature.tumblr.com/ask

http://whispering-literature.tumblr.com/ask

http://whispering-literature.tumblr.com/submit

http://whispering-literature.tumblr.com/submit

What is my literary confession?

I don’t really care for classics.

They tend to bore me.

I mean, I respect all of them and love the authors because, well, they’re authors.

But I mean DICKENS. ‘Nuff said.

I want to clarify, so I’m not suspiciously found in a ditch tomorrow, I can still ENJOY classics. I just tend not to. I liked Jane Eyre. I can like others, I just haven’t found any.

Classics just evoke that natural “blow a raspberry” response in me.

Habits of a Reader

Habits of a Reader

Habits of a Reader

Habits of a Reader

Habits of a Reader

So I was riding my bike today…

and I noticed something on the curb that caught my eye.

So I stopped and kicked myself back to the object like a flailing penguin (because turning around didn’t seem like an option at the time).

Lo and behold, there sat a perfectly abandoned book. 

It wasn’t in a place that suggested that the previous owner was getting rid of it, or that someone might be coming back for it. It was on the corner of a small wall surrounding an old parking lot. 

As any book nerd would do, I of course picked up the book and reviewed the damage, flipped through the pages, checked the binding, made sure the pages weren’t folded, then read the back. 

Sadly, the plot didn’t interest me in the least.

But I still took it home.

And now it sits on my bookshelf like a proud war-time victim that has finally returned home.

Habits of a Reader

Habits of a Reader