Fun fact about me: when I find an author I love, I tend to marathon their books. Big time. I run to Wikipedia, get the full list of their novels/ series in chronological order, and then I disappear for however long it takes me to finish it.
By the time I come out on the other side, often have a few new best friends.
Usually, this marathon is followed by a couple of months of lighter reading, before another author sucks me back into the spiral (a spiral which, by the way, is never easy on the pocket and leaves me thankful for libraries and reading friends).
But this time, there was almost no break.
This time, Georgette Heyer sucked me in, took me whirling through the ballrooms and country houses of England, and dumped me back on the other shore whimpering for more and dreaming of waltzes in full ball gowns and painted faces and stylish facial patches.
She dumped me. Hard. And still reeling, dreaming of days long gone, I decided to go through some older books the Library has had in storage since my arrival there five years ago.
And I found this.
Of course, at the time, I didn't realise that Dragonlance wasn't ten or so books. More like 200.
This... is going to take a while.