I’m obsessed with my books lately. I think it’s very hard for a writer to look around at her beloved friends and companions, her library, and say good bye to so many of them. It’s like a holocaust of literature. I’ve removed four bookshelves from my office (leaving two left and several piles and stacks of books).
John said it best on Friday night: “I just want it to be over.” Next Monday, we take the remaining books to the library. My TBR pile stays. My “Store” pile goes into storage. My “RV” pile goes to the RV. Very frightening.
Things that perplex me, though: the utter lack of books that sold at the yard sale. I don’t get it– people must not buy books used anymore.