Childhood Revisited
I am seriously having the oddest urge lately to go back and re-read books from my childhood. Not just The Phantom Tollbooth and The Hobbit but stuff like The Stinky Cheeseman and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, The True Story of the Three Little Pigs, Sideways Stories from Wayside School, Wayside School is Falling Down, Just As Long As We're Together, Here's To You, Rachel Robinson, From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler and everything in the Fear Street series.
And The Babysitter's Club books. I was such a dork for the Babysitter's Club. I joined the bookclub. I had all the special editions. I had my own favorite girls (Claudia, Dawn, and Mary-Ann), and I think I may have, in my mind at least, wrote my first psuedo-fanfics to those books. I haven't read them or looked at them in ages; I know for a fact most are in this old warehouse-sized cheez-itz box in my mother's attic. I have a feeling I will be climbing up there when I go home to poke through the boxes and try to dig some out.
I just can't explain the sudden urge to re-read the books of my childhood. Maybe because most of the modern books I read now disappoint me in the end, or b/c there is such a lack of imagination or innocence. Maybe b/c everyone suggests "historical" books to me, and I usually end up throwing them across the room after ten pages, or maybe just b/c the quality of written works has gone down. I don't know. The only authors whose work I am enjoying book after book these days are Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, David Sedaris, Lynn Flewelling, and Jim Butcher. Besides the Nightrunner series, now that HP is over and done with, there's no big novel I'm waiting for and this makes me sad.
This is the problem with me not going back to classes in a month or so. With no set reading list of at least one 200+ page book per week, I think I am going to go insane.
And The Babysitter's Club books. I was such a dork for the Babysitter's Club. I joined the bookclub. I had all the special editions. I had my own favorite girls (Claudia, Dawn, and Mary-Ann), and I think I may have, in my mind at least, wrote my first psuedo-fanfics to those books. I haven't read them or looked at them in ages; I know for a fact most are in this old warehouse-sized cheez-itz box in my mother's attic. I have a feeling I will be climbing up there when I go home to poke through the boxes and try to dig some out.
I just can't explain the sudden urge to re-read the books of my childhood. Maybe because most of the modern books I read now disappoint me in the end, or b/c there is such a lack of imagination or innocence. Maybe b/c everyone suggests "historical" books to me, and I usually end up throwing them across the room after ten pages, or maybe just b/c the quality of written works has gone down. I don't know. The only authors whose work I am enjoying book after book these days are Terry Pratchett, Neil Gaiman, David Sedaris, Lynn Flewelling, and Jim Butcher. Besides the Nightrunner series, now that HP is over and done with, there's no big novel I'm waiting for and this makes me sad.
This is the problem with me not going back to classes in a month or so. With no set reading list of at least one 200+ page book per week, I think I am going to go insane.