Happy weekend, writers!
Specifically, books that we lug from house to house or apartment to apartment even though we've never read them and probably never will.
"Literary albatrosses," if you will. (And please do.)
One of mine: Volume I (of three!) of Mark Twain's autobiography, which is nearly 800 pages and weighs as much as a small
sofa -- and has cost me about as much as a small sofa in moving costs, because it almost needs its own box and has moved with me four times.
And I know I'm never going to read it!
It's so weird. This book has no sentimental value to me, and it's not particularly pretty on my shelf. I'm not sure why I can't get rid of it.
One thing I do know: You probably have your own literary albatrosses.
Another thing I know: I want to hear about them!
And let's come up with a fun name for this quirk. Our favorite answer wins... drum roll... a book! Something you can carry with you from home to home and never crack open.
Maybe even volume 1 of The Autobiography of Mark Twain. If I can save up enough money to cover the shipping costs.
