The Shelf of Cheryl begins...

One of my favourite moments has to be when I get to pick which book to read next. Usually for me this process starts even before I finish my current book. I often find myself craving something quite different than what I've just read, usually alternating between fiction and non-fiction, historic settings and utopian societies, the completely f-ed-up and the depressingly uplifting. I like to have a good stash of books on hand, ready to go, just waiting to be read. They sit on my shelves, looking pretty, hoping to be picked next. When it's time to dive into something new, I plunk myself down in front of my bookshelf (or book stacks as is the case these days), scan through the titles and wait for one to pop out at me. Lately, however, the books seem to be much more appealing in the store than in the wee confines of my apartment. This is causing quite the problem! My usual pool of unread novels, biographies and potentially dry history books is growing, the book budget's been blown, and there is no end in sight.

While the stores are growing, my previous reading stamina (i.e. my determination to finish a book NO_MATTER_WHAT) seems have disappeared. It all started the summer of 2009. A friend and I decided to join a book club, a sensible choice as we both love reading and discussing what we read, in order to expand our horizons (and maybe to meet some interesting men - ha!). This meant I needed to abandon the book I was reading at the time, Reading Lolita in Tehran by Azar Nafisi. I was about two-thirds done and just *just* starting to enjoy this book...but, it was cast aside to make way for The Jade Peony by Wayson Choy (an "award-winning best seller"). My book club adventure had begun! Little did I know that I would *not* like this book, nor would my book-club-partner-in-crime (in fact I don't even think she finished). Out the window with the book club - and with my book-finishing determination. It's been a never-ending battle since. I read 15 pages of this and 60 pages of that. I start off with enthusiasm and gusto....and it fades as soon as something flashy catches my eye at the book store.

My solution: a vow to read each and every unread book that collects dust on my shelf. 

To no longer ignore the neglected, to pursue the abandoned, to rescue the cast-aways and to boldly go where I have never gone before. How many are there? I'm too tired to count now and entirely too excited to get going to tackle that tonight (stay tuned!). Surely there are enough to sufficiently distract me from a certain doctoral dissertation that *isn't* writing itself. Once my mission has been completed, I will allow myself to return to the sacred sellers of books and start over. So book-buying-friends beware, for from now on, Cheryl will look but she won't buy!

And now here I sit, gazing at The Shelf of Cheryl, wondering what I should pick up next. Nothing is overly appealing, despite two or three hefty purchases this month. An upcoming trip to Russia has me feeling somewhat obligated to explore the "Russian" section, but my eyes are wandering away from the revolutionary and communist tomes....to the tales of polar exploration....to the discussions of language and the brain....to the classic novels I never read in high school....to the never-heard-of-before impulse buys. Where will I begin?