When A Book is Really, Really Good

Not much bothers me when reading, provided the story is moving…and I mean really moving. I simply love solid ‘deep’ storytelling.

I have now read books that remind me of songs… as in ‘The Smartest Guys in the Room’ by Bethany McLean and Peter Elkind. The song; ‘How ‘Bout Us’ by Champaign. I have curled up in the corner of my sofa, and stood out in the rain…and sat at my 9-to-5 desk job sobbing graphic tears while reading ‘The Highest Peak’ by Kathy Lee Pair, ‘The Second Tour’ by Terry Rizzuti, and ‘From Ashes to Africa’ by Josh and Amy Bottomly, ...respectively.

Reading solid good stories has given me a bucket load of stories to tell, about the reading experience alone!

I’ve found a beloved poem I had been looking for, for years in one book. Another book, and yes admittedly, I threw against a wall. But I picked the book back up and read to the end. To this day, that book stays in my mind. And I still loathe it. I’m surprised any pages are left to still call it a book, and keep on my book shelf to boot.

Once, while riding public transit, and while reading (of course), I looked up from the book to find a white man glaring at me. He.Was.Pissed. It didn’t dawn on me why he might be pissed, until I turned the book over and glanced at the cover. First of all, I didn’t exactly like the book… though engaged I was. The funny part was forgetting the title of the book, and THAT COVER.­čść

One of my favorite reading experiences, is the ‘backstory’ on why I got excited about reading ‘One of the Few’ by Jason Ladd, on top of the fact of how deeply the story resonated. 
True Story.

Years ago while living in Germany, my first experience living on foreign soil in a small (off the beaten path) village, I made it my mission to do some touring…ahead of knowing nothing about the country… the language…the culture…NOTHING. All I knew was what I read in books, and news headlines, and heard from hearsay.

So, on my way to do some touring, with my infant and toddler in tow, we get to the bus depot when all of a sudden I hear a noise I had never heard in my ENTIRE life right above us. The deafening drone was so drilling and blinding that I didn’t bother to look up. From what I read in books on World War II, and deciphered from news headlines, and heard from my father, told me EMPHATICALLY, this country was under $!%$#! attack! No one had to tap me on the shoulder and tell me to dive to the ground, and cover my babies. I did this all on my own.

Welp, turned out the country was not under attack. When the noise dissipated, I peeked up to find the coast all clear, except for SIGH, a busload of natives pointing and laughing at me. Oh me, oh my. Couldn’t speak a lick of the language, and was the only foreigner on the bus (besides my children), and yet what a fun ride to wherever we went that day. Later I learned what that noise was. Fighter jets. Them F-15’s/16’s I came to love.

Now, I just finished reading Alicia Keys’ ‘More Myself’, giving me yet one more story tell. (Other thoughts here).

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