At the moment, I'm bookless. Haven't yet picked up what I'll read next.
Usually when I end a year I have a book in progress; a year ago it was Tom Clancy's second-published book, Red Storm Rising. Big book; takes a while. This time, my books at year's end were intentionally quick reads: a Sue Grafton, my latest of several re-reads of William Goldman's The Princess Bride, Jim Butcher's first Harry Dresden book, and some comics collected into graphic novels (Gail Simone's Batgirl, the 2002 return of Howard the Duck, a book I read -- carefully -- on the bus, so that no one who could potentially be offended by it would see it).
I'm waiting for a hold, and a change of pace, from the library: the original non-fiction book Friday Night Lights, which inspired the film and then (yes!) the TV series lots of us have a soft spot for. But books (even easier-to-digest comic book collections) in the meantime? Nothing's grabbing me. What is grabbing me is the desire to READ. Hey, at least there's the Internet, right?