I, on the other hand, read like I'm walking up a 60% grade above 6000 feet. But I'm breaking in these new prescription reading glasses and... Zip. It was done. I remembered her laughing at a scene in another, so I figured I'd read that one too. Zip. Unfortunately, it had to go back to the library the next day.
Saturday afternoon, I managed to wheedle the librarian into letting me return it and check it out on my card. Even though I didn't have it with me. One of the advantages of being a frequent patron, I expect...
So it's done now. Kind of reads like a Stephen King, except that Grisham is really fond of adverbs. So if you're looking for a voyeuristic trip into the seedier side of the south, give it a read:
The deputy was seconds behind them, but out of sight. They turned sharply to the right, and the truck's lights swept across a small farmhouse tucked low under huge oak trees.
Some of you know why this turns up the corners of my mouth. If you'd rather take a voyeuristic trip into a similarly seedy side of New England, give Don White's CD, Live from the Somerville Theatre, a spin. But remember:
Words cannot hurt fictional people.
Add this to Stephen King's On Writing, and you have the books I've finished so far this year. Of course, there was an entire class in January. Cut me some slack.
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