Sigh. This is the sight that greeted me when I innocently turned around this morning.
I'm really not sure about this whole "climbing" thing. Seriously. He likes to bodysurf the coffee table as well, which is very cute, but we're trying (and trying) to discourage it.
Anyhoo, that's not the point of this post. Remember when I celebrated getting my reading mojo back? Yeah. Spoke too soon.
Oh, I'm reading. But I'm reading Agatha Christie again. Which I usually only do occasionally, as an in-between fix while I figure out what to pick up next. But this will be the ... third? Agatha Christie novel I've finished this year.
Not.Good. I did just finish The Adoration of Jenna Fox, which is very well-written, and a very, very moving treatise on just what it is that makes us human _ what are the connections that truly hold us together? Our souls? Other people?
Very, very good. But not enough to pull me out of the slump. Reflecting on Wyrd Sisters, I think Mr Sir Terry Pratchett got me to the top of the cliff, but I'm still hanging on by my fingernails.
I also finished a novel called The Roar of the Butterflies, by Reginald Hill. Kind of a cosy mystery, centred on PI Joe Sixsmith, who works out of Luton. Lots of pubs, and posh golfers and no-nonsense women. Pretty good, you know.
So. Other reading bloggers. What would spark your imagination. What makes you read, and read into the wee small hours? That's really what I'm looking for _ that breathless, headlong reading experience, where the rest of the world just ... disappears.
What's good out there?
