Skip to main content

Book blog News and Crazy-for-Books

If you would like to post links to your giveaways,book reviews,challenges, memes,etc.... see the post below this one.(Book BLog News)

the question this week  is "Why do you read the genre that you like?What draws you to it?
I love reading Adult literature, emphasis on the word literature.  I am not interested in books that are just
popular because what is  bestselling isn't always  literary.  I love authors who know how to write a good plot,believable conversations,  and imagery.  The writing should swallow me whole.  I should be burning the meatloaf I am
cooking because I can't pull myself away from the story to check on it.  I want to finish the book with the
characters  still on my mind   ,even after I have  read the books weeks ago.  I read Christian books mostly to see how other Christians  live and as for mysteries well I just  like to  see the cops catch the bad guy!

Comments

Shan said…
I love what you said about burning the meatloaf! That's what books should be doing for us.
Howard Sherman said…
Here I am hopping on by...

I went all over the map with this question on my blog. I read and enjoy almost every genre of fiction out there. There’s no way I could just pick one.

So I talked about all of them. Even romance fiction (sort of)! I invite you to hop over to my blog at http://www.howardsherman.net and see for yourself.

Howard A. Sherman
http://www.howardsherman.net
Robyn said…
I agree, great quote about books should make us burn the meatloaf. Thanks for hopping by.
Emma Michaels said…
Happy Follow Friday! I am a follower!

Sincerely,
Emma Michaels
The Thirteenth Chime
http://EmmaMichaels.Blogspot.com
bookaddict4real said…
Thanks guys. I really have burnt dinner on occasions I had a really good book(Just not meatloaf)
Kristin said…
New follower! Stop by and say hi if you get a chance!
Kristin
MyBookishWays

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

My Arkansas by Maya Angelou

There is a deep brooding
                             in Arkansas
                            Old crimes like moss pend
                           from poplar trees.
                           The sullen earth
                           is much too
                          red for comfort.
                          Sunrise seems to hesitate
                           and in that second
                           lose its
                           incandescent aim,and
                          dusk no more shadows
                           than the noon.
                           The past is brighter yet.

                          Old hates and
                          ante-bellum lace,are rent
                          but not discarded.
                          Today is yet to come
                           in Arkansas.
                           it writhes. It writhes in awful brooding.