Reading along the lives of Women

I just finished reading Sydney Sheldon, never thought I would actually BE ABLE to read it and finish it. It was on my shelf for like a year and a half now I thought at first it was boring and then it came tome when I was about a quarter finish that it was actually exciting and a good one. Has been my most prolific reading season, read Stone, Ruth Francisco, Sheldon and Cahill in less than a week. I also realized something (that even if i don't mean it and i don't intend it) my readings belongs to a certain genre, about women, stories about their childhood to death, divinity and humanity, timidness to sexuality and a never ending search for love and self (and all of those i don't intend). Sometimes i really wonder how does that happen, how in the hell does the books i buy, without even reading the synopsis and just "got it and bought it" all belong to the same genre.

Hughton's murder of Beatrice, The Joyluck Club, Belladona, Houses of Stone, Like Water for Chocolate, Nutcracker, The Sands of Time, Symphony X, By the River Piedra I Sat Down and Wept, Good Morning Darkness, Power of Beauty, White Oleander and a lot lot lot more, right now I have nowhere to put my books, that almost 15 of them (except Dan Brown's) have to sleep with me...(yes they are in my bed). I have a lot more books that I haven't read yet. "The-self-help-books"... i don't know why but I never really bother reading them. Bores me to death. I think I maybe young, but I'm more mature than those Self-helps...

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