mostly david ephgrave

Having finished the John Grisham book A Time to Kill only a few days ago, which I really enjoyed, I've already set to work on its follow-up, Sycamore Row.  As I wrote the other day, it's nice to be back on a bit of a reading streak; there's little more relaxing than being in the grip of a satisfying book. While I've always been an active reader, I sometimes get out of the habit, particularly with fiction, though I don't know why really; perhaps it's because any time I spend not writing makes me feel guilty, which is a ridiculous motivation when I should be doing it because I enjoy it. It doesn't help that I keep leaving writing my blog until late in the day, which is the worst and least productive time to do it. This is something I mean to address, to prevent it from morphing into a clumsy diary, which it feels like at the moment; yesterday's post was crap, for example, though that was mainly due to tiredness; all the more reason to find an earlier tim...

I’ve been devouring John Grisham’s debut novel 'A Time To Kill' for the past week, which is the first time I’ve sped through a good book in ages. While I’ve always been an avid reader (or a David one) I sometimes get out of the habit, according to my mood. It doesn’t help that I’ve gone through a spate of writing my blog immediately before bed, which I'd prefer not to do, partly because it cuts into time when I might be reading or - Shock! Horror! - sleeping. I can’t get a handle on people who don’t read at all, when it’s about the cheapest and most effective form of escapism you can get. I enjoy both fiction and non-fiction, but find the latter the more relaxing of the two. I’ll often alternate between them - I last read Robert Webb’s ‘How Not to Be a Boy’, which I really liked - but do love a good novel; I’m particularly fond of thrillers: Robert Harris is always a good call. This is the fourth Grisham book I’ve happened upon, having ...

In the past few weeks, after a bit of a reading hiatus, I’ve got back into the practice of devouring books. While I’ve always been an avid (or should that be ‘David’?) reader, I tend to go through periods when - through tiredness or otherwise - I fall out of the habit. This will usually be the case when I’ve finished a book and haven’t had time to start another during daylight hours; I don’t like beginning new books at bedtime, as I’ll end up having to reread the first few pages the following day to make up for what I missed through tiredness.   It only takes a gripping novel to remind me of how addictive reading can be. It’s such a lovely feeling when you submerge yourself in a story and get lost in it. There’s little to match the pull of a great book that no sooner have you put down you're desperate to pick up. A well-written novel is a little bit like magic; how is it that hundreds of words on page after page disappear to be replaced by such vivid imagery? Yet it ...