I keep a small stack of books on my desk. During times when I’ve not had a writing table, the pile sat on the nightstand beside my bed. It’s important to me these books stay close. They are my writers Bible, the guides to my personal enlightenment. I need them on hand.
This small stack has become my essential, invaluable Crew. My Swifty Squad.
Some came to me via friends. One from my Mother. Another I found on my own at a used book sale. Some I’d never heard of, but all broke my heart at a time when my heart was already broken. Does that make sense?
A new breaking?
The years I squandered, searching for love, for meaning, for content were wrapped in a little burrito of good words and the wisdom of those who passed my way before.
So when people ask (because they always do when they find out you’re a writer) what books I’m reading, what books I love… I refer to this little stack of loveliness.
As A Man Thinketh by James Allen
The Celestine Prophecy by James Redfield
Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert
Letters To A Young Poet by Rilke
Chosen By A Horse by Susan Richards
The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo