reading – sharon p. lynn

Are you a take-it-easy-in-the-summer-and-jump-back-in-when-it’s-over type? Or are you an everything-else-slows-down-so-I-revel-in-summertime kind of person?

Personally, I always get antsy for a refresh when autumn gets close. I guess my rhythms are still tied to the school year. I want new books and new pencils and new calendars. And I want to think about new stories, which makes it hard to focus on the fixes I need in my work-in-progress.

This year, I’ll be on the road for my refresh-month. Instead of staring at my keyboard, watching words stretch across the screen, I’ll be squinting at my GPS and trying to get on the road early until I reach my destination–wherever that may be.

I am looking forward to the time at the end of the road, visiting family and friends. But I still hope to squeeze in some time on my writing. I hope that doesn’t sound too selfish. But I have been waiting all my life to put stories to words, to polish my prose until it resembles poetry.

I’m inspired by stands of corn turning yellow, and by leaves, curling and crimson. By vivid red sumac leaves. And those first days of rime on the marigolds.

I want a pinch of purple prose in my life. But a pinch every day.

When I retired–and I’ve said this before–I was so used to being busy I volunteered for a dozen or more “small jobs” for groups I belong to or thought I could help. It took most of my time for four years. (I can hardly believe I’ve been retired for going on five years. They’ve flown.) But last fall the inkling of “spare time” glimmered on my personal horizons. I’ve gone back to the beginning. (See my February and March posts for details, if you’re curious.) I’ve replanned the novel I decided to focus on at Bouchercon in New Orleans last September. And I’ve been inching toward a much revised draft since then.

Inching because I’ve still let a few “small jobs” slip into my life. One has had me looking for free (or reduced price) illustrations since last spring. I am reworking some small booklets, but even though I have words on the new templates, I have yet to find appropriate new illustrations. That’s the biggest new job I’ve taken on. And when it’s done, it’s done.

Another new task (Note to IRS: one with a small paycheck) is a feature story for a trade publication. That could go on indefinitely, but it’s not too time consuming so far, and I enjoy doing it.

But none of that sates my annual urge to curl up with a good book–even if I’m “curling” at my computer and writing my own book. And this year, as I gear up in my usual way, I will be putting the brakes on my progress.

I’ve talked with some of my writing buddies. They are supportive, encouraging me to try to write at least one sentence every day while I’m gone. We’ll see how that works. I’m hopeful. And my fingers would be crossed, but it’s hard to type that way.

À bientôt!

July has been a fast, lazy month. I had high hopes of getting a lot done, but my eyes have not been as “back to normal” as I’d hoped after my cataract operations. Yes, I can see well, but my eyes seem to tire more easily than I remember them doing in the past. So, I don’t have the staying power on my computer. That’s slowing down progress on my novel, as well as a couple of projects I’ve taken on for others.

I did have a great few hours with my youngest and his family when they came through on their way north for a couple weeks. I hope next year they’ll have time to stay for a couple of days.

I have made small but measurable progress on my decluttering, and on getting estimates for some house maintenance. All things that need to get done.

But I feel like the month has just slipped away with little to show for it.

I didn’t even really like any of my book club reads this month. Not liking them, of course, doesn’t mean I didn’t learn from them. Mostly I learned things I wouldn’t want to do myself.

I’ve had some fun this month reading the Victoria Thompson Gaslight Mysteries. I’m almost to the end of the ones she wrote before she died, just in time, I’ve learned for the one her daughter is releasing this fall. It seems Ellen Thompson finished her mother’s last book, City of Promises, thus keeping a promise.

Friends and I have been talking about the success and failure of various franchises being kept alive after the original author’s death. Most of my friends, it turns out, don’t think the efforts have been worthwhile. Personally, as someone who didn’t know until I was an adult just how many Carolyn Keenes there were, I’m ambivalent about continuations. Apparently as many as 20 authors wrote the Nancy Drew mysteries. I didn’t read many of them, but from what I read, I could detect no significant differences.

I’ve read a few of Sophie Hannah’s Poirot stories. She was officially approved by Agatha Christie’s heirs to write new novels. I might read more, but so many books…

I have yet to try Robert Goldsborough’s additions to the Nero Wolfe series. Again, the heirs of Rex Stout approved his continuation. I had not read any Nero Wolfe stories when I met Goldsborough at the last Love is Murder conference in Chicago years ago. He was a charming man, and the conversations I had with him sent me to the original stories. I haven’t yet finished them, so I may get to the new books eventually.

But the book club novels this summer have been in genres I wouldn’t have picked in my own. Or, sadly, they’ve been poor examples of the genres I like. For the most part they’ve wound up in the “unfinished” bin.

How am I doing all this reading while my eyes are still bothering me? Ah, that’s the wonder of audiobooks. I began reading them in the car while I commuted to work years ago and I’ve almost completely converted.

I did actually read Molly MacRae’s recent Haunted Shell Shop Mystery, All Shell Breaks Loose. That was as much fun as its two predecessors. In this one, Maureen, the shell shop owner, and her personal ghost, Emrys, an 18th century pirate who died off the coast of Okracoke, North Carolina, meet another spectral visitor. The new ghost is tied metaphysically to a sword that is used in a 21st century murder. Molly’s books are generally fun cozies, good for light summer reading and for curl-up-with-cocoa winter reading. I always recommend her books.

I also read Jacqueline Winspear’s latest, The White Lady. Hers are a bit weightier, in both subject matter and length, than a cozy mystery. In this one, we range from Belgium during the first World War, to England and France during the second, and back to England in early post-WWII years. The main character is a quietly fearsome woman who finds herself connected to London mobsters in order to protect the young family who are her neighbors. I gather it’s a stand-alone although I could see room for additional stories featuring Elinor White (or Elinor De Witt or “Miss White”). It has some gruesome and dangerous war scenes, but Winspear has never shied away from the realities of war in her books.

So, that’s where my July has gone. And I haven’t even brewed a big batch of my summertime favorite iced tea. Well, there’s still August.

À bientôt!

Category: reading

Falling toward fall

Summer time, slack time