This has been a very full, and quick summer, not all of which I am comfortable to post about on the internet. There is this dynamic between blogging (assuming that what I do here remotely resembles that activity), and separating out those things best left private. Makes things interesting 😉
Between work, and marketing my fledgling book indexing business, there is little time to do needlework these days outside of Feast Days and Sundays. That is kind of sad, but the business is for a very good reason, so I really am not complaining in the least. If I could only learn how to go without sleep but, alas, it seems that I am just a human who simply MUST sleep from time to time. If I could just persuade my body that it could get by with, say, 1 hour sleep each night, or just sleep every other night, that would be wonderful – but of course – it doesn’t work that way. Especially when you are
(mumble mumble) years old.
At one time I used to be addicted to mysteries – I think it is something genetic from my mother. Anyway, at some point I decided I liked the mental junk food called “The Cat Who…” series. Not heavy by ANY stretch of the imagination, not particularly dark other than the fact that someone was always murdered, colorful characters, overly intelligent yet cute cats, and something you forgot about 3 minutes after finishing the book. Mental cotton candy that was good when you were too tired to read anything else and required no effort at all. A very forgetable “vacation” to an improbable town.
I was at the library yesterday and noted that there was yet another one in this VERY long series, and as I hadn’t read one in a couple of years, I thought “why not?”, and checked it out. I finished it this evening and one of two things have happened:
1. I have lost my taste for mental taffy, or
2. The author REALLY needs to hang it up because she has milked the series for all it is worth, or
3. Both at the same time (I only finished it because I hate not finishing a book)
The book was awful. I think even the characters are tired of the series, it has become a trite also-ran and that is kind of sad.
I haven’t read much fiction in recent years – and I’ve been disappointed every single time that I have tried – when it wasn’t a classic. There seems to be a lesson there 🙂 In the end, I really don’t have much time for leisure reading either – or else my idea of “leisure” reading has changed. I suspect that may be closer to the truth.
One thing IS true, regardless of my old love for mysteries, I’ve learned that when I read more than one in a very great while – they depress me. My priest tells me that this is because – regardless of how fun it can be to try and solve a serious mystery, (as opposed to the aforementioned mental candy bar), there is a real darkness at the heart of them. Someone is murdered, lives are broken, fell deeds are contemplated and done. My priest is a very wise man indeed.