I almost always have multiple books on the go. In fact, if you look at my Goodreads page, you’ll see I’ve got something like seven books on the go at any given time. Some of what I read is not terribly profound. Much of it is fun and goofy. A few are pretty heavy—the sort where you read a few pages and then set it down for a while.
But whatever I’m reading almost always provokes some kind of reaction—be it a burning question surrounding the content, something legitimately profound (which happens every once in a while), or something that barely relates to whatever I’ve just read. This is a good thing, of course, because if they didn’t, they wouldn’t be very good, now would they?
Today, I’m giving you a glimpse at my nightstand and sharing a few of these thoughts:
Dandelion Fire by N.D. Wilson. When I grow up, I want to tell stories as well as Wilson. He is crazy good at what he does. Seriously. So good.
Mozart in the Jungle by Blair Tindall. Two thoughts: First, I’m part way through this and kind of wish I’d picked up Dee Ramone’s book, Lobotomy, instead. (But I’d probably not be thrilled with that one, either.)
Second, I really hope this book doesn’t turn out to be nothing more than a salacious and gossipy read. Nobody’s got time for that. Next time I’m at the airport, I will be wise and think thrice about what I purchase for the flight home.
How to Be an Atheist: Why Many Skeptics Aren’t Skeptical Enough by Mitch Stokes. Why does this book have to be so dry? The concept is so intriguing, but I’m having a hard time reading it, guys…
DC: The New Frontier by Darwyn Cooke. Cooke’s artwork is as beautiful as I remember it. But what’s got me thinking so far is something incredibly random: Progressivism may well be a myth. In the 1950s, civil liberties were routinely trampled upon with McCarthy’s show trials, and crimes motivated by the color of a person’s skin abounded. As we’ve seen in the media in recent days, fundamentally, things aren’t better much better.