Sharing my newest author addiction.
We are always on the lookout for a great book/author/series, right? Sure, sometimes it seems like you have an infinitude of books to read, possibilities stacked on your crammed bookshelf, or title lists scribbled on pages of your daily calendar. But, if you're like me, other times you just can't find what you're looking for, despite the stacks and scribbles. So you scroll through the library catalogue, or amazon, or goodreads, or pester your friends... and finally, AH, you open the cover of a previous unknown, and suddenly find yourself exactly where you were wishing to go.
That was two days ago for me, the result of my sister's recommendation to try out Louise Penny's Three Pines series. I have no idea how I reached age 50 and never before stumbled upon these wonderful murder mysteries. Thank you, lovely sister mine.
There are seventeen books published, with the eighteenth due out this November. I've read the first two and am praying that I have the will power to resist my new treasure trove of time-sucking temptation. One still needs to write, you know. I'm talking to myself here.
That's always tricky for me: the balance between reading and writing. I'm a focused person who likes to do one thing at a time. That serves me well when I'm in the writing flow, but it also means it's very, very, very hard for me to put a book down before it's finished. This week is going to be tough. I've found the Three Pines series AND two of my favorite authors are releasing their next books. Patricia Briggs's Mercy Thompson Book 13 comes out on August 23rd, as does Ilona Andrews's Hidden Legacy Novel 6. Eek. That's seriously some wonderful reading time. Unfortunately, summer is over. I have to go back to teaching full-time. I love it, but there's only so many hours in a day. Morning is for writing, day is for work, night is for... sleep? Ah, who needs sleep when you've got a good book to read?
Here's the opening of Still Life, just to whet your appetite:
"Miss Jane Neal met her maker in the early morning mist of Thanksgiving Sunday. It was pretty much a surprise all round. Miss Neal's was not a natural death, unless you're of the belief everything happens as it's supposed to. If so, for her seventy-six years Jane Neal had been walking toward this final moment when death met in the brilliant maple woods on the verge of the village of Three Pines. She'd fallen spread-eagled, as though making angels in the bright and brittle leaves..."