As a writer, I'm supposed to love Book Clubs. My sister Sherry was a member of one for years but lately she's taken up knitting -- take from that any meaning you like. I've never been a member of one, but I sure would have certain ideas for how it should go. First, I would need some alcohol. No not the hard stuff but a sure supply of wine and preferably chardonnay. Second, a book I want to read. The closest I ever came to joining a club stopped me cold with the choice of the first book -- To Kill A Mockingbird. Don't get me wrong. I love that book, but a book club discussion? I want to join a club to read books I might not know of, not re-read books I can quote from. This choice just didn't seem to bode well for a longer commitment.
I like to read and write entertaining fiction so please, go easy on the stuff that passes for literary fiction today. No dead kids, sexual abuse of kids, suicide, etc... As a chaplain who currently works with dying adults, who worked in a children's hospital and counseled dying children and who is the mother of child who survived cancer, I can no longer handle novels hell bent on doing the heavy lifting of life. I prefer escapism and humor. Books have become my palate cleanser at the end of a long day. Does anyone really get Mrs Dalloway? I couldn't even get through it. Where was the plot?
I'd want a balance of books from women's fiction to books by and about men. My friend David Liss, author of the Whiskey Rebels and the Benjamin Weaver series introduced me to Mark Haskill Smith and Billy Taylor. I also read Christopher McDonald and Carl Hiassan.
The club would need to meet during the week with an evening time and no more than an hour of discussion with more wine offered at the end. Wine makes everything more enjoyable.
What I really want to do is join the Chelsea Lately Staff Book Club. At the end of it, everyone ends up naked.
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