Yesterday I was talking with a dear friend of mine and the subject of guilt and books came up.
We found that we felt less guilty spending money on books than we do spending money on other things.
It was a great conversation. :)
I totally meant to post a bit about my amazing progress on the Galadhrim project... and/or my incredible writing that I haven't been doing... or even the fact that I will be posting a guest story on another blog tomorrow... but y'know, I haven't actually done any of that because I'm exhausted from work and thus been putting everything off. Instead, I've been reading this interesting book by C.S. Lewis.
As always, I am quietly awed by the beauty of his writing. It's so beautiful that you don't notice that it is beautiful unless you are watching very, very carefully. Even then, it's difficult to see because he draws you in so warmly with his words that you become lost in his stories and must pull yourself out to see the writing again. I have spent the last few minutes trying to think of some metaphor or simile to use to describe it, but I haven't come up with any that really fit. I'll say 'mild and subtle yet bold and powerful' and leave it at that.
Haven't finished TILL WE HAVE FACES yet, but I expect to finish it quite soon. My old friend Clive tends to have that effect on me.