The book club that was started up several months ago is going well. We have lively discussions over the group read and lots of laughter over our reviews of exchange books. We battle our demons and overcome our stereotyped selection of books we all ordinarily read. Or at least try to. For some, it's poetry anthologies, for me the albatross hanging around my neck, i.e. the style of book I have a difficult time reading, are biographies. I had randomly drawn a biography of Charlotte Bronte at the first meeting. I tried to dive into it in the spirit of the random book exchange of being exposed to authors and genres I wouldn't normally pick up. I did not get through it by the second meeting. I decided to hang onto it and forge ahead and make sure I would read this book by the third meeting. Given that two months pass between each meet, surely four months would be enough time for me to delve into the world of biographies. Needless to say, I have not read the book. I hung my head in shame (and in laughter) and returned the book to the pile of circulating exchange books. The group read for the next meeting is Blindness by Jose Saramago. In the random "good book" exchange, I have Einstein's Dreams by Alan Lightman and Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins. All of which sound as if they will hold my attention long enough for me to actually finish them before the next meet.