I read in bed every night. Sometimes I last 5 minutes, sometimes an hour or two. If I’m serious about reading, I loll across the bed rather than get in it…I can read all day that way.
Right now I’m reading a book that was written (and apparently self published) by a guy from my small hometown. I’ve never seen anything like it—the type is typewriter, like an essay gone wild. VERY interesting, the way it veers from ‘scraped potato mush’ being a folk cure for a skin boil to the location of the first ice house in town.
Before that, it was Scott Turow’s “Burden of Proof”. Before that was “Book of Lies”. Next I have an historical perspective of slavery in my region. I might need a Janet Evanovich or Robert B. Parker after that.
My shelf space is too precious for books, so I have the potential reads stacked in an odd corner, probably 3 foot tall and 3–4 stacks. Local history books have a shelf all their own.
:-)