I have a confession to make

A horrible, embarrassing confession.  You see, I love to read.  That’s not my confession; I’m pretty sure that anyone who takes the time to write a blog likes to read.  I love to read classics from Jane Austen to Charles Dickens, i love nonfiction (history books… yes, I minored in History, I’m a closet nerd), mysteries, easy-reading literature to thick-and-takes-you-about-a-month-to-finish-literature, and horrors.  (i don’t read fantasy or science-fiction.  Sorry just doesn’t interest me.)

Through all my life, I have been able to say that there is one group of books that I will not go near.  Trashy and useless, fluff and mind-numbing.  Well, my friends, I’m sad to say those days are behind me.  Yes, I have read, and enjoyed, my first romance book and I have bought another.

How can a seemingly well-rounded individual such as myself fall for such drivel, you ask?

Well, let me tell you… it was really, really enjoyable.  Sure, the plot lines were predictable and the characters were shallow, but it was entertaining, nontheless.  Happy endings and a feel-good-story… how can you go wrong?  Sure, if you want an interesting, thought-provoking read, look elsewhere.  If you are a hardworking individual (perferably a woman) who sometimes wants to get home from work and have a relaxing, enjoyable and easy time relaxing on your couch with a good book… maybe being a snob about romances are a waste of time after all.