With friends like these...

I haven't had a chance to count the novels, plays and books of poetry yet but I'm continuing to enjoy Ann Radcliffe's The Italian. Clearly, the rule that a writer should show rather than tell hadn't been established yet but the descriptions are so vivid and inventive that I'm not really minding. It makes for slow reading, though. No way I'm finishing this book in the five days I had hoped.

Meanwhile, my friends in the various social media spheres have jumped all over this project as a means to make fun. Yesterday, I posted that I was enjoying the evening on a local patio, watching the sunset, and a friend commented, "Shouldn't you be reading?"

And, when I expressed an interest in a local yard sale that promises to include a lot of novels from the fifties and sixties, another friend commented that I wouldn't be particularly wise to introduce more books into my household at this time.

Yep. I'm a target.

As long as the books continue to be good, I don't mind.