I was looking through a couple of the boxes my mom has packed up in the house (her midlife crisis, selling all of the furniture/appliances in the house is ripe for a post soon) this evening and found my new book for this half of the month. Yeah, it's Bergdorf Blondes by Plum Sykes. Thanks, Al, for the help but I saw it and I was, like, oh yummy, I love great Chick Lit.

I promised myself that I have to read Jane Eyre next. And I know I'll love it because I did back when I was still in school in Bermuda. I was little was about 11 or 12 back then and still thought being forced to read was a sin. I never had a problem reading. I still wish I had my collection of Nancy Drew and The Babysitter's Club books around and maybe one day when the e-Bay bug hits me I might go search them out.

But reading a classic. Blick. I hated it until I read The Great Gatsby when I was a junior in boarding school. Back then I was dubbed the "run on queen" and had a penchant for fragments. I'm not quite sure how the hell I accomplished that but I think what's even more startling is the fact that I'm now a writer.

But I still love my books and I find reading to be an inspiration for my own writing. They mesh well. And it is about time I pick up another one of those dreaded classics (they really are good!).