The Nine by Jeffrey Toobin
This is the penultimate book I have to read for my political science course. I enjoyed it so much that I may talk to the professor about adding it instead of simply recommending it to the other political science course of his I take. It would be much more beneficial than the reading currently used for that class, but I digress.
When I was just a wee lass, my paternal grandmother gave me her copy of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone. I read it happily, until I got to the last few chapters. My grandmother had underlined, in pen, several passages of the novel. I was shocked that somebody would desecrate a book like that! It had been made very clear to me by my mother that writing in books was bad, ever since I scribbled in and tore up in my brother’s Asterix comic books. (There are many words to describe myself as a child–let’s just go with completely bonkers for now.)
During the night, I was watching Night of the Living Dead while bouncing my beloved laptop, Demora Pasha, on my knee. I glanced at the clock to find that it was midnight.
I fled the scene to join three other girls to write into the wee hours of the night. There was plenty of Wikipedia abuse and some chatting, mostly about how I couldn’t believe YouTube was founded only four years ago and bits and pieces of naming. By the time I crawled into bed, I had completed my very first of thirty legs of NaNoWriMo.