I’m not gonna lie, it’ll be a stretch to say I’m super pumped about writing today.

Let me clarify one thing first. I feel a strong need to write. I want to write about the two books I’ve read in the last four days and how they’ve made me feel after finishing each of their final pages. This is, without a doubt, the topic I’d love to discuss, but I can’t.

My mind won’t let me, it keeps taking me back to the one slow moving book I cannot seem to finish, but I feel devotion towards obligated to.

The Paris Wife by Paula McLain left me wanting to dive into Ernest Hemingway’s life, but I can’t make myself post about it right now.

Then I read the Other Boleyn Girl by Philippa Gregory, it left me sick to my stomach for Tudor England, yet it motivates me to read another Gregory novel soon. How come I can’t find it within myself to talk about a book I finished last night and woke up thinking about today?

I’ll tell you why, because I have a third book which holds my attention and not in a good way.

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