For some reason, Grace, Jimmy, and I were talking about single-noun-subject books. What concrete thing interests you enough that you would read or write an entire book about it? Salt, for example.
Grace raised potatoes as a possibility.
“Pencils,” I said. “I love pencils. I would read an entire book about pencils.”
Yesterday, my library helpers found and brought this home for me. I saw the title, and my heart started to beat a little faster in anticipation. I opened to chapter one. First words: “Henry David Thoreau seemed to think of everything…” Ah, book heaven.