“Oooooh! Bed time!” I say, to my husband
“Ooooh, I will be right up!” he replies, with a knowing wink.
I slide under the duvet, excited and wondering what adventures will befall me tonight. Smudge walks in to the bedroom…
With two cups of decaf tea.
“Thanks! Oh nice!” *nods towards his current read* “You will LOVE that one, it’s fab!”.
And we settle down to read. At 9pm.
(this post was never going to be about bumping uglies)
This is my bedside cabinate
This is my husband’s bedside cabinate
We like books. A lot.
I went to the bank 3 weeks ago and it was the best trip to the bank I had ever had in my LIFE (mortgage approval appointment included). I hadn’t just paid in the euro millions big fat giant cheque. The cash machine had not just spat out fifties instead of fivers. What had just happened was, whilst waiting in the queue, I got out my smartphone and found out I had received an email from my favourite author.
Saying he wanted to send me a signed copy of his book.
And asking after my family.
I gasped and sort of gagged. I managed to dial the emergency number in my phone…
“Oh my bloody hell!” I said “Chris Mooney has emailed me and wants to send me a signed copy of his book!”
And my emergency contact (Smudge) went;
“Oh my bloody hell!”,
Who then told his boss who went…
(something Smudge and I are evidently not).
I am a massive bookworm. I love books. I get sad when I finish a book I have really enjoyed reading and for me, it can pretty much feel to me like saying goodbye to a good friend. I love the feel of the paper and the smell of the print. I like getting cramp in my hands from holding a book open for too long as I read it. I like waking up in the middle of night with the book splatted on my face after I fall asleep reading it. I will never go over to the darkside (Kindle).
A friend’s husband went to an awards show (fancy). He came back with a goody bag (even fancier). Inside the goody bag was a book. It had a scary suggestive picture on the front and the blurb promised a lot of death and horror. Not his cup of tea, so he gave it to his wife who gave it to me. I had nothing else to read that night so I shrugged, picked it up half heartedly and thought, fine, ok, let’s give it a go I suppose.
2 days later on a Thursday night, I closed this book, feeling gutted that I had finished it. I went straight downstairs to where my husband was sitting, stood in front of him and held out this book and said
“Read this. You HAVE to read this. You have to. And start tonight”
It isn’t often you find a book that does this to you. It’s like finding a rogue caramel hidden amongst all the naff strawberry creams in the Roses tin on Boxing Day (or a rogue strawberry cream hidden amongst all the naff caramels, if you’re my husband). I am a fussy reader. I like certain authors and tend to stick with them, checking Amazon again and again and again for any hints about previews of future books and release dates. John Connolly. Mo Hayder. Mark Billingham. These authors are not for the faint hearted or easily creeped out. Finding a new book, from a new author and falling in love with the work of that author is a real rush for me.
Through the power/ 100% invasive and stalkerish aspect of social media I have managed to let the author of “The Dead Room” know how much I think his work is aces. It is pretty darn coolio to be able to let someone know you think what they do is whack and how much you appreciate it. I never in a million years expected a response. The authors of the kinds of books I read have, lets say, an awareness of nutters (as their book content suggests…) so their radar must be set to red alert. We have all seen Misery…there must be an element of
“Who the hell is my biggest fan?”
Well. It is ME. Big old ginger stay at home mum ME.
But I did get a response.
*puts away sledgehammer…cancels reservation for creepy mountain cabin*
He interacted and turns out he massively appreciates his readers. To take the time to email a fan, to chat with that fan and then send that fan (ME) a signed book is pretty cool. Again, I am not cool because I have written a whole blog post about this, proving my lack of coolness.
Do you have any books you would recommend? Any books you have read that make you want to run downstairs and say to your loved one READ THIS NOW? (And any tips on making me cooler in any way whatsoever?)