Like a child with a high time preference who desperately wants a marshmallow, I couldn’t wait. I finished Winslow’s Cartel Trilogy last night (read it!) and gave in. I was going to wait until I’d finished Slate Star Codex Abridged. I didn’t. Couldn’t. I caved and got myself five new Kindle reads. Hence; NBD.

New. Book. Day.

I’m still making my way through the Little Black Classics–most recently, number thirteen, John Keats–but I prefer to read these slowly, on empty mornings. Unfortunately, due to a mixture of internally and externally imposed constraints, these are not particularly regular. So, to supplement the LBCs and SSCA, I have:

At times, it feels like the practice of reading is hard-coded into my DNA. Books–or, more accurately, the people that write them–have given me so much. Changed me in countless, incomprehensible ways. I have faith that the above will continue to catalyse my ongoing, never-ending metamorphosis…