This week's Musings Monday question:"Excuse me. Pardon me. Oh! I'm sorry. Excuse me. Ouch! Pardon me."
We were all warned as children to 'never talk to strangers', but how do you feel about book-talk with random people? When you see people reading, do you ask what it is? Do you talk to people in the book store or the library? Why or why not? What do you do if people talk to you? (question courtesy of Dena)
It was July 20, 2007. Barnes and Noble was crowded with people buzzing about the midnight release. It wouldn't be long now! Friends and families were gathered together for the event; strangers became instant friends. We all had something in common: our love for Harry Potter. At a moment like that, it was impossible not to talk to someone I didn't know.
In most instances, I tend not to approach strangers while they are reading. I do attempt to take a peek at the title of the book, sometimes straining in an unusual direction in hopes of satisfying my curiosity. I cannot help myself. While part of my unwillingness to push myself on a stranger I see reading has to do with shyness, a bigger part has to do with the fact that it might come across as rude. Not everyone wants to be interrupted while reading. Just this afternoon, in fact, I had reached an intense scene in my book when a coworker wandered into the breakroom. "Please leave me alone; please leave me alone," I silently begged. Fortunately for both of us she did just that.
I generally do not mind if someone I do not know strikes up a conversation about books with me. It has happened on occasion as I browse through a bookstore. Maybe someone is trying to decide on a book and is wondering out loud if it would be worth it (okay, so maybe she wasn't asking me directly, but that's just a technicality) or perhaps he notices a book in my hand which he read and loved--or hated.
It is not very often I find myself reading in a public place where strangers have asked me about the book I am reading. And even though there are those moments when I would rather not be interrupted, more often than not, I wouldn't mind at all. So, the next time you happen to see me with my nose in a book, do take time to stop and say hello.
For this week's Mailbox Monday on Friday, I have one book to report.
Magic Strikes by Ilona Andrews
I can still remember holding it in my hands. I was nestled under Grandma's afghan with a dog snuggled up in the crook of my legs and a cat curled up on my lap. I was excited and anxious. I had an entire afternoon of reading ahead of me, and I could not wait to dive in and see where my book would take me.
Suggested by Janet:
How about, “What’s the worst ‘best’ book you’ve ever read — the one everyone says is so great, but you can’t figure out why?”
Words filled the pages, black ink on off white paper. I was prepared for the images to form in my head. Only, something was wrong. Something terrible was happening. The book was silent. It was not speaking to me. Maybe I could find an old episode of Law and Order to watch on television. It always seems to be playing somewhere. Or I could work on that crossword puzzle that had me stumped. I found myself dozing off to sleep before I knew it, waking with a start when my dog jumped down off the couch to bark at the postal carrier who had just dropped the mail in the mailbox.
Oh yes. The worst "best" book. The one everyone said I should read. The one almost everyone loved. It is too bad I cannot remember the title.
1. Why do we have to sometimes stop reading at the best part of a book?
2. Anya curling up on my chest and arms while I sit at my computer is now a habit.
3. I have to figure out a way to make sure the thief doesn't steal anymore of my mail (namely those packages the UPS delivery person and postal carrier leave on my porch while I am hard at work).
4. I had never heard the phrase "the worm has turned" before today, and it is probably not one I will remember tomorrow.
5. I will figure out this mess and fix it the way I always do.
6. How was I to know he would be waiting right outside the door?