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Since today is St. Patrick’s Day, I’m sure everyone expects me to expound upon the virtues of driving snakes from a country, the fundamental holiness of Guinness Stout, and the fact that the Irish did, in fact, save the world during the Dark Ages.

But, I figure every other blog and site will be covering St. Patty’s Day so I’ll do something different.  I want to talk, yet again, about books.

Hey, there.  Stop rolling your eyes.

Last night I managed to get one step closer to clearing the incredible backlog of unread books I have collected over Christmases and birthdays the last year or two.  The last few chapters of Bearers of the Black Staff seemed to fly by as Brooks turned up the tension, and I swear I was gripping the novel with a white-knuckled grip.  The interesting thing about it was I noticed something I had felt before but never really noted.

I’ve decided to call it Literary Euphoria.

It’s that high or rush you get when you finish that last paragraph and close the book.  It’s a great feeling, a feeling that is one part accomplishment and one part excitement.  You have this new book that is now entirely under your belt and you just want to tell someone, anyone, about it.  You feel the opinions and the interpretations just flooding through your brain waiting to be shared with anyone who will listen.

Preferably that person will give a shit, but that doesn’t necessarily matter.

Books are like tiny treasure troves to me.  Each one brings its own knowledge and perspective.  Each one shapes the way you think and perceive things around you.  There is simply something about the written word that no other medium can truly touch.  And, when you manage to finish a book, when you have devoured the contents of those pages and added them to the catalog of your mind, there is a moment of pure euphoria from the experience.  Sometimes more than a moment.

I spent a little time combing through the backlog and selecting my next endeavor last evening, still feeling that high.  The great thing about it is that now I can start again and relive that moment with another book, and another after that.Somehow the world just seems richer when you’ve known that high.

Or, maybe, it’s just me.


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