Marybell Davis, awesome blogger of awesome things
Daddy Warbucks: Marybell, did you clean your room today? Have you found a job?
Marybell: Shhhh, Daddy. I’m reading, on the internet, in my room. I have to solve the mystery of the book club.
Really, all we do is read. I have 1,432 really good friends on Facebook and it takes three to five hours just to weed through their posts to judge who looks fat and who’s giving too many updates about their cat hacking up a fur ball. Don’t even ask me to count how much I read on Twitter, Snapchat, or in my Redditt snopes group.
I am literally spending every waking hour of my day reading.
So imagine my surprise when my friend Hope said she was going to start a book club so that we could read a book and talk about it. What?!
Why do I need to read more when I am reading all day long and responding to my old sorority sister’s post showing her wedding dress (she clearly needs to liquid diet her way into her wedding day).
Writing and reading are clearly important. But the mystery is: why do I need to do more?
Coma already has lots of clubs. There’s the Hug Club, the Farm Vehicle Club, The Peaceful Puppeteers, and The Club for People Who Like to Go Clubbing.
So why a club for people to read books by dead people or “supposedly” amazing living authors who only have 140 followers on Twitter?
I started this investigation like so many before it, I googled “Book Club.”
The first thing that popped up was an old lady holding the hand of a small child (gross) with a giant wine glass in her other hand. She looked exhausted. There was a book called Little Women (not about midgets) behind her. It looked like she’s spilled some wine all over it.
Apparently, some women start book clubs so they are not drinking alone. This makes sense to me except that I am young and hot and–duh!–I read all day long. So what’s there to learn at this book club?
I sought another source.
Me: Hope, what do we get out of a book club that’s different from what we get from reading on facebook?
Hope: Simple. You get to judge these dummies who sat in a room for weeks or months or years, writing and editing a dumb story. You get to read their work and then drink and then tell your friends how you could make a better story if you were lame and tried to sit down and write it.
So, Mystery Solved. There’s absolutely no difference in a book club and reading and judging on Facebook, except that the book club can include work from dead people and Facebook does not. Death. So gross.
Daddy Warbucks: How’s the job search, Marybell?
Marybell: Not now, Daddy. I need to post about the bookclub on Facebook and Twitter so people can read my thoughts. I’m an author.
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