I am a little reluctant though.
I am honestly awaiting the day I have enough money to go on a decent shopping spree-
My list of books to buy is always increasing. It's so hard to keep up with. I only go on a few sprees (maybe three?) a year. My birthday, around Christmas, and some other random time. And I rarely get more than three or four books.
So I have a tendency to make lists.
And edit lists.
And edit them again.
Alway reprioritizing which books I want.
Always trying to decide which ones I can live without
My dream one day is to a have a room in my home devoted entirely to books. Can you imagine? Just the huge bookshelves holding all sorts of books by all sorts of people?
Whenever I try to imagine this, I'm reminded of the library Beast has in Beauty and the Beast. Every time I see that movie, the library gets to me. (Honestly, that has got to be my favorite movie ever. It's one of the most amazing love stories ever, in my opinion. And I feel like I have a lot in common with Belle. But more on that later.)
Obviously, I doubt that I'll have a library of that size.
But turning a bedroom or office space into a library certainly shouldn't be too much of a problem.
It my mind it has just about everything-
From classics to contemporary to best sellers to reference to, I don't know, other educational, edificational stuff.
(Yes that word is made-up, but edification is it's root word and I find it funny how similar my made-up word sounds, especially next to educational.)
That is my goal, one day.
And if I happen to publish anything, ever, well...
I guess that'd be in there too.
I sometimes wonder if I would ever revisit my works once they're finished (assuming I ever finish). And I'm thinking that may be one of the reasons I've backed off. Because right now those ideas I have- they have infinite possibilities. They can go anywhere.
One problem is where exactly they should go. The other is that I've become so attached to these characters that I'm not sure if I can let them go so easily.
Which is silly, of course.
That being said, I finally got around to reading The Outsiders by S.E. Hinton. It was absolutely stunning and beautiful and sad beyond belief. I haven't cried like that in so long.
When I finished, I was just crying openly. But I couldn't put the book down yet so I went to read the synopsis on the inside flap and then I read the short author bio on the back one. And I discovered two things.
1. S.E. Hinton is a girl.
2. She was sixteen when she first wrote The Outsiders.
It took me a while to get over *that* shock.
I had never felt so inspired and inferior at the same time.
Do I honestly think I can write a classic like that?
But how great would that be?
Hope is one of those odd things because it's great until it lets you down.
So for now, I have hope.
And a new idea I've been sitting on for the past few months.
Don't think so.
But hey, if it is, you guys knew me when!