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Being Bookshelf Worthy

I am a book addict.

I love to read. I love to inhale the words and voices of other people, to have their stories imprint on my brain and to escape into another world for a while.

I’m also a selfish reader. I love to own books. Not to borrow, not to hold for a single moment, but to own them. I like the freedom to go back and sample their stories again and again, sometimes only the paragraphs or chapters that I loved or even hated. To escape again and again in that moment. Sometimes it’s about the writing but often, I forget the writing and live the story – those are the best.

Unfortunately, I no longer have unlimited space or budget for this addiction of mine. Living in a small space means that I have to be judicious in my book purchasing. What books am I really going to want to keep for years and years? What happens if I buy a book and it disappoints me? Does it really deserve to take up the limited space I have? Would they be Bookshelf Worthy?

And so I have joined the masses and joined the library. I’m really not sure why I avoided it for so long. Possibly because I’m a snob.

There, I said it.

But since joining the library, I have found the solution to my troubles. I’ve read so many books that I may have walked away from, simply because I wasn’t sure that they were Bookshelf Worthy. I have been devouring books, and all for the request fee of a $1 coin. ‘Aint life GRAND?

Just to get myself writing, I’ll be posting mini book reviews over the next few weeks. Keep your eyes peeled!



Writer, editor, wife, mother. I snatch moments to myself to read between nappy changes, work and chasing a toddler who is determined to destroy ALL THE THINGS. Welcome.

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