But, as usual, that is not really the point of my post.
I am a little late to get on the band wagon, but for the past week I have been consumed my the Twilight saga. I don't know why I am embarrassed by this, because most everyone I know has read it, but I can't do anything but read. In fact, I haven't been quite so preoccupied with something since, Dylan McKay and Brandon Walsh posters were hanging on my bedroom walls. I don't think that the never-ending overcast and rain that is falling upon the coast is helping either.
I have to admit, that it isn't the most well-written book, in the sense that the words don't flow like poetry; they are not particularly filled with color, nonetheless, my heart races when I read it and if I do have to put the book down, which inevitably happens when I have to be parental, I find myself thinking about what I just read. I never really pegged myself, for the fantasy genre type, and since I am laying it out there, I do somehow find the werewolf storyline a little harder to believe than that of vampires...I don't know why. Werewolves are just less sexy than vampires, I guess. After finishing New Moon and eagerly awaiting my borrowed copies of Eclipse and Breaking Dawn to arrive from New Jersey, I scanned my bookshelves for Dracula, with the hope that my irrational reaction to this series is rooted in classic literature, as I do have some faint recollection of being mesmerized by the story in college.
I read one page and closed the book ready for bed, thinking to myself Edward's words, "I guess I am just not impressed with antiquity."