To begin with the Edinburgh Book Festival seemed to have the wrong effect on me. I read less than usual. But to be fair to them, I was feeling inspired, but tired. I also ran out of time, preferring to chill on the train journeys. Otherwise one can get through quite a few books while travelling back and forth.
But pulling myself together, I picked up a wonderful book to read on the train.
Worrying that the next one needed to be even better, I chose the one I felt was most likely to deliver. It did. I felt so good.
But then, after that. What to choose? I looked at all the expectant books and almost went for an old book, on the grounds that something well known would be far safer.
In the end I got out two new books, the first of which I discarded after one chapter due to its gruesomeness. I wanted something a little sweeter than that. The second one seemed to do the trick. But for how long?