I spent as much time as possible at the local suburban Barnes and Noble, head cocked sideways, scanning the science fiction and fantasy section for new arrivals, or maybe an Anne McCaffrey book I’d missed that wasn’t one of Acorna the unicorn girl books. Hardcovers and trade paperbacks were fine, but spending money went further with a pocket-sized model. Once I could drive myself, I also frequented the romance sections of the local Walmart and grocery stores.
Lately, however, I have become intensely aware of a vague itch at the back of my brain. It’s a little clock ticking audibly somewhere out of sight, almost like a crawling, constantly disrupting my focus. Maybe this is the result of having a toddler and knowing that the quieter the house, the more likely something dire is happening.