Gambling and other addictive habits

When it comes to contests, I am (always have been) perpetually unlucky. You could put 10 pieces of paper in a hat, nine of them with my name and a singular, lonely strip bearing someone else’s — And you know what? Against all odds — against the very laws of probability — the name drawn would inevitably NOT be mine.

I should NEVER go to Vegas.

But the tables of chance have finally turned in my favor (and my name was only entered one time)!

Thanks to Jessica over at SouthernYankee, I will soon be the very lucky recipient of a wonderful candle, made my none other than her “Mum.”

Jessica’s mum makes an array of scents that sound amazing. She asked the winners which one we’d like, but I simply could not choose, so I told her to surprise me! I’ll definitely be back to share the (certain) good news of how great it is after it arrives.

In other news, I’ve gotten back on track with my reading and have plowed head-first into the newest Greg Iles book, Third Degree. I started it yesterday after work and have successfully managed to knock about half of it out already. It’s pure genius. It has me a nervous wreck, in the best way possible. I literally feel the anxiety of the main character; I feel that familiar twinge of panic for her as she finds herself in an impossible situation. It has me turning pages, ignoring phone calls, forgetting supper and forgoing sleep.

I hope to finish it tonight.

To me, reading has always been like a highly addictive drug (or what I’d imagine a highly addictive drug would be like, since I’ve never actually tried one). It consumes me. While I’m on my “trip,” I lose all concept of time; I have no notion of the events taking place around me. Nothing else is necessary. Not food or sleep – I get lost in an alternate reality. Some other place and time where I see vivid images of people that seem so real, I almost feel guilty of spying on their lives.

When it comes time to put the book aside and carry on with my daily life, I have a hard time functioning. In the back of my mind, I’m still dissecting the plot - trying to figure out what’s going to happen or analyzing the personalities of each character, creating back-stories and imagining different outcomes. It’s a bit obsessive. I’ve always been told I have an overactive imagination. I guess I can’t argue with that.

My favorite authors are artists. Instead of painting or sculpting, they carefully craft their words in a way that can evoke joy, fear, excitement, uneasiness and nostalgia (all in the same novel). They have an uncanny way of making their characters a perfect blend of familiarity and intrigue – relatable enough for readers to connect with, but mysterious enough to keep the interest fresh. They vibrantly describe places and thought processes, vigilantly weaving plot twists and somehow managing to pull all of the loose ends together by the end of the book (or sometimes series).

In any case, they keep me coming back for more - impatiently awaiting their next addictive masterpiece, longing to feed my inexorable habit.

Hi. My name is Heather and I’m a book junkie.