I’ve been book-hopping. Still reading stuff on Wattpad, which accounts for more writing rants in the recent past than I can accurately recall, but also reading A Game of Thrones aloud to my husband before bed. That one is slow going because it’s not really a regular thing and it’s usually so late that we can only read a chapter before he’s out.
My own reading at the moment is a revolving door of The Book of Three, The Perfect Princess, Fellowship of the Ring, and Casino Royale.
Reading James Bond is an experience. I’m really not in tune with Fleming’s writing style (not in a bad way) and some bits are either heavy-handed or very dry. But then there are these awesome bits of poetic flash that make me grin like a Cheshire cat.
Suddenly a few feet away the entire plate-glass window shivered into confetti.
I love reading things like this, as well as writing my own. It’s too bad there aren’t a lot of ways to encourage it in a writing exercise.
Can’t write too much today, the swelling in my hand is pretty bad.