Stupid Book Blogger Appreciation Week. I Hate It.
It brings back all the angst one felt in high school: am I accepted? Is what I write of quality? In this whole big world does my little voice even matter?
That’s not what BBAW is supposed to be about, of course, it’s supposed to bring the best of book blogging forward. The best blogs. The best books. The best thoughts about blogging about books. But then, of course, there’s me. Bellezza, party of one. Bellezza, so often against the grain.
How does one write about the blogs one loves without making the others feel they have unloved blogs by default? It’s horrible. It’s a concept I’ve been mulling over all day. I don’t know how to get around it, so I won’t say that my oldest friends in this book blogging world, friends from six years ago, include Les and Bookfool and Andi and Chris and Carl.
I won’t say that I miss Claire and Frances with all my heart, while still understanding that they have other lives.
I won’t say that Gary continues to teach me about poetry, as does ds, or that Tom and Richard and Stu constantly challenge me to read the most wonderful translations which I often don’t completely understand.
I won’t say that the faithful, and insightful, comments from friends like Linda and Ally and Natalie and Audrey and Vasilly and Diane and Suko and Nadia keep me going, just like the film reviews and shared reads I enjoy with Arti.
I won’t say how nice it’s been getting to know new-to-me bloggers like Liburuak and LitLove and Caroline and Helen and Reading Buddy.
Nope, I’m not saying any of these things, for then I would be defining a certain group of book bloggers and leaving others out. Because ultimately? I don’t want to do that. This is not an elite corner for the select few. It’s a place for literature lovers and writers to record what’s in their hearts. For all of us to appreciate one another. And if you’re in my sidebar? That means I appreciate you and everything you do.