Books, Books, Books!

I don't know what I'd do if I didn't have a book in my hand.  I don't mind waiting in line at the post office or anywhere else for that matter so long as I have a book in my hand.  I see people in line looking up at the ceiling, at the four walls, down at their shoes, at the back of the person in front of them, etc. etc. etc., and I think to myself, "How can you walk into anywhere and stand in a long line without a book?"  In fact, I am very disappointed when it's finally my turn to go up and be waited on, especially if I'm at a really interesting part of my book. 

Some of my favorite authors are John Steinbeck, Pearl Buck, Elizabeth Berg (Becky and I went to the Elgin library a few years ago to hear her speak there), Anita Shreve, Maeve Binchy, Daphne Du Maurier, and Mary Higgins Clark.   Those are just SOME of my favorite authors.  I have quite a few others, but Joyce Carol Oates is not one of them.  She doesn't believe in proper sentence construction and punctuation, and her plots are, to me, a lot of mish mush.  I may be in the minority in my feeling about Oates because she has won all kinds of prizes as an author.  I guess there's no accounting for tastes.