reading

now that i can't knit due to breakage, i'm reading a tad more. right now am reading the indian bride by a norwegian named karin fossum. she used to be a poet and you can tell because her use of language is slightly more disciplined than what you find in the average mystery (and i say that as a person who loves the average mystery). i'm reading with several lobes of the brain at the same time--the lobe that just enjoys the story and the lobe that keeps asking how is she doing that. it's the curse of being a writer a little. you can never completely sink into a novel and lose yourself the way you did before you started writing yourself.

friend susan also dropped by the fairy tales of oscar wilde since we're supposed to be reading him for our bookgroup tuesday. dude. i'm over the irish now. this year has been a grim slog through alcoholism, catholicism, mom-ism, whatever. maybe oscar will uplift me. we'll see.

still knocking back dr. pepper. also plowed through a mountain of cummings chocolates from tom and louise. am craving garlic burgers but don't have the will to drive myself to a public place and eat.

Well done, Emily!

I just returned from The King's English where I heard Emily Wing Smith read from her new book. SO GOOD! What I liked were the tangible specific details--right down to the cornflakes on top of the funeral potatoes. The bit she read was poignant and heartbreaking and funny all at once. Wow!

I saw her dad, Bob Wing, who was in my Spanish class in high school along with Rick Walton. He pointed out his contribution to Emily's book (a debate ballot) (way to go, Bob!). I also loved talking to her mother, Diana, who grew up in Alaska.

I would die of coldness and lack of light-ness if I grew up in Alaska. (BTW, Emily's mother did NOT sound anything at all like Sarah Palin. Where did Sarah Palin's accent come from?)