Buffalo Gal

My expectant suitors are stacked on shelves and end tables, each hoping to realize the seductive promise made in our only shared moment in the bookstore.
Some promise research, others amusement and still others a writer's raw envy for their power and art.
My plate is full with a contracted project right now, my own novel-in-progress stifled in neglect. Under those circumstances I couldn't possibly read another book.
So I keep starting them with a promise to return shortly. But to actually continue would be cheating my primary responsibilities. Dozens of rejected swains (including the dying-to-get-to-it latest by James Swain, who has another one coming out in June) lay in wait, while I flirt with six selectees.
I started Edgar-nominated "Southland" intrigued that a non-traditional mystery by a Polish-Japanese writer could draw the attention of the nominating committee.
"Reading Lolita in Tehran" had to be started immediately after I heard someone read a segment defining the validity of the novel.
Ben Mezrich's "Bringing Down the House" and Jim Squires "Horse of a Different Color" are both well-told tales of non-fiction in my favorite areas of interest that are likely to provide nuance and inspiration for my own work.
A friend was reading "Running With Scissors" the other day, reminding me how much I enjoyed it and that Augusten Burroughs "Dry" is now out in trade paper.
Since I had an hour to kill at the carwash, and no book with me, I picked up a copy yesterday.
But, being one who pushed the Book Club to read "Middlesex" I need to force myself to get lost in Eugenides delicious yarn.
The various characters and settings call to me from all variety of place and time, always when I should be doing something else.
Charlie and I are taking a road trip to Saint Louis this weekend. As much as I look forward to seeing his family during the waking hours, the guilt-free evenings with my neglected friends are equally appealing.
May will bring two cross-country flights allowing hours of uninterrupted indulgence. The idea of basking on a California beach during the trip appalls me. The idea of sharing the beach with one of my attempted entourage is exquisite.
Hurricane season will be back in a few weeks with the threat of evacuation and property damage. The last time we evacuated I didn't take a single book.
This time, I'm ready.

Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs

Buffalo Gal Judi Griggs I'm a communications professional, writer, cynic, mother, wife and royal pain. The order depends on the day. I returned to my hometown in November 2004 after a couple of decades of heat and hurricanes. I can polish pristine copy, but not here. This is my morning exercise -- 20-minute takes without a net or spellcheck. It's easier than sit ups for me. No guarantee what it will be for you. Clicking on the subscribe link will send you an email notice when each new entry is posted.
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Previous Entry :: Next Entry Read/Post Comments (0) Share on Facebook		2004-04-29 8:20 AM My eclectic suitors My expectant suitors are stacked on shelves and end tables, each hoping to realize the seductive promise made in our only shared moment in the bookstore. Some promise research, others amusement and still others a writer's raw envy for their power and art. My plate is full with a contracted project right now, my own novel-in-progress stifled in neglect. Under those circumstances I couldn't possibly read another book. So I keep starting them with a promise to return shortly. But to actually continue would be cheating my primary responsibilities. Dozens of rejected swains (including the dying-to-get-to-it latest by James Swain, who has another one coming out in June) lay in wait, while I flirt with six selectees. I started Edgar-nominated "Southland" intrigued that a non-traditional mystery by a Polish-Japanese writer could draw the attention of the nominating committee. "Reading Lolita in Tehran" had to be started immediately after I heard someone read a segment defining the validity of the novel. Ben Mezrich's "Bringing Down the House" and Jim Squires "Horse of a Different Color" are both well-told tales of non-fiction in my favorite areas of interest that are likely to provide nuance and inspiration for my own work. A friend was reading "Running With Scissors" the other day, reminding me how much I enjoyed it and that Augusten Burroughs "Dry" is now out in trade paper. Since I had an hour to kill at the carwash, and no book with me, I picked up a copy yesterday. But, being one who pushed the Book Club to read "Middlesex" I need to force myself to get lost in Eugenides delicious yarn. The various characters and settings call to me from all variety of place and time, always when I should be doing something else. Charlie and I are taking a road trip to Saint Louis this weekend. As much as I look forward to seeing his family during the waking hours, the guilt-free evenings with my neglected friends are equally appealing. May will bring two cross-country flights allowing hours of uninterrupted indulgence. The idea of basking on a California beach during the trip appalls me. The idea of sharing the beach with one of my attempted entourage is exquisite. Hurricane season will be back in a few weeks with the threat of evacuation and property damage. The last time we evacuated I didn't take a single book. This time, I'm ready. Copyright 2004 Judi Griggs Read/Post Comments (0) Previous Entry :: Next Entry Back to Top