I'm a huge lit geek, my shelves have quite literally overflowed, now I'm stacking books on the floor. I try m best to donate books to charity shops, or put them on bookmooch, but still they seem to be breeding. Part of the problem is I like my hoard, some of them I'll never part with, and some I tell myself I'll re-read and never get around to it. Certain books have crept in quietly, left an impression and settled in somewhere on the shelves. I have favourite authors, and devour everything they write, and I have individual books I cannot be parted from, ones I've really fallen for and re-read all the time, familiar and well-worn though they may be. I even blog about them.
It's why I did English Lit at uni, why I've always wanted to be a writer, why I taught myself to read at 3, books consume me. I don't want a kindle or ireader or whatever, books possess a magic all their own. I love bookshops, and yes I use Amazon, but it doesn't compare to the joy of rummaging the stacks of an old secondhand bookshop, the touch and smell of old paper, the way it's yellowed with age and love. Finding words someone else once read and loved, learning anew, making a new friend, or reconnecting with an old one.
In an ideal world, I'd have my own library, and it wouldn't matter how many books I had, or what on earth I was planning to do with them all (obvious answer: read them!). But this world isn't ideal, and I don't have a library, so maybe it's time to sort through them and decide what I can bear to be parted with, or maybe I'll just let them sleep on til I take them down, open the cover and bring the characters back to life.