Our nightstands are a little ridiculous of late with so so many books about so many topics set in so many places, I’m finding myself missing the characters or the authors in the middle of the day as if they’re people I know, and in a flash of confusion it seems they’re all from the same place.
A Man Called Ove (Sweden, winter, with a critical but loveable widowed curmudgeon).
Rising Strong (Nonfiction, a gift from Lindsey. Fortification for the season of life we’re about to walk into.)
The Little Way of Ruthie Leming (Nonfiction/memoir about the ties that bind us to the small hometowns we leave and come back to.)
Escaping into the Open: The Art of Writing True (thoughts on writing by my favorite author)
And my daily companion since 2009, no matter the season: Streams in the Desert.
What is it about books?