Health, Books, Snark

I’m now five days post-fall. My foot, while still tender-ish, is much better. I just walked a half mile—not as far as my pre-PT and splat levels but it's an improvement. Tomorrow will be better still.
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I recently finished the first installment of a new suspense/thriller/fantasy series by a writer who I used to guiltily favor.

Why the guilt?

Well, her writing is certainly not in the same league as Catherynne M. Valente, Neil Gaiman or even Simon R. Green. Laurell Hamilton’s books have, at base, engaging stories to tell—engaging and fun with strong female protagonists. It’s just the way they’re told is…unfortunate. She has the regrettable habit of indulging and expounding on every last stray idea that blows through her head. That is, her characters may be heading into battle—in addition to describing the scene and what the players are thinking/feeling, she goes off on lengthy tangents. Like, are we going to fight or are you taking an intellectually masturbatory break? In order to follow the action, I end up flipping past page after page after page of mega indulgent, superfluous exposition.

This, from Macbeth, comes to mind:

Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.

The other reason I quit reading her is that, as each of her two main series progressed, the books became less about the ripping yarn and more about romance and wild, often violent sex. If I wanted to read an X-rated, kinked up version of The Vampire Diaries, well, I guess I’ve found the go-to author.

Given how NOT into her writing I now am, why did I take this latest disappointment out of the library? It’s a new series and I thought maybe it wouldn’t be all about S/M sexy-time with vampires. MAYBE she’d be back to her earlier, more streamlined, adventure focused style. Nope. This was a romance novel with supes, verbosity and lazy stereotypes. NOT my bag.

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Now that Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau and his wife have separated and Cheeto will soon be cleaning up roadside trash on a chain gang, will Melania be moving north? Spending a lot of time in Ottawa? Trading in her ugly sundresses for mink coats? Will she suddenly start giving a damn about people who are less fortunate than herself?

Just curious. I suspect Trudeau prefers more intelligent, empathetic company but who knows. Imagine how volcanically pissed the orange oaf would be! //grins//
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I’ve never been a huge bread lover but a bagel with a schmear of chive infused cream cheese and smoked salmon IS the ultimate breakfast. A snack of warm Irish soda bread is divine. A pomodoro/tomato/spinach sammich on focaccia or dark, thick pumpernickel is heaven.

MMMMMMMM!

Problem. My swallow reflex is beginning to suffer due to my lovely Nf2 ignited tumor garden. It’s not wickedly awful yet but I can no longer happily eat risen bread. Unleavened bread? Totally fine but who the fuck’s every had a food orgasm over a tortilla? Possibly, I should start having garlic naan based breakfasts and lunches.

 Happy Friday!