Extra Tart

So I’ve been reading Dahlquist’s Glass Books of the Dream Eaters. For a little while, I thought it might be a book I could enjoy; I certainly liked the first 450 pages. The last 100 pages have been an incredibly tedious slog. I don’t see it getting much better, and there’s still over 200 pages to go. It’s unfortunate, because I feel like there’s a good book in there somewhere; the author just needed a ruthless editor to hold a gun to his head and force him to cut out half the damn words.

Do editors do that any more, or do they just pick books to publish and run spellcheck on them now?

I don’t know. Maybe it’s true; maybe I just don’t like novels. It’s strange; I’ve always been a reader. Even though I feel like I never read any more, I still go through at least 20 novels a year, plus 50 or 60 nonfiction books and uncountable magazines and newspapers. (And that’s not even getting into the stuff I read to K.) I just can’t name the last novel I enjoyed reading. Maybe a pre-millennial Terry Pratchett. I enjoyed listening to some classic books on tape (I FINALLY found out how Moby Dick ended, after reading the whole book minus the last two chapters twice, I learned that Brothers Karamazov is actually a fantastic book if you can keep all the names straight, and I discovered that anyone who thinks Wuthering Heights is romantic is not to be trusted even a tiny bit). But that wasn’t reading, that was listening.

I mean, I don’t think it’s books. They haven’t changed, have they? Either I’ve gotten stupid or jaded, but either way, I’m not sure why I bother reading any more.

I guess it does make the idea of writing a novel somewhat ridiculous.

I spent too much time browsing last night, and now I’ve come down with a serious case of Etsy Voice.

When my alarm went off, I was dreaming: “This jumbo celery holder leaves plenty of room for tomato juice, your choice of spices, and a generous helping of vodka! Be the envy of your friends as you mix your own Bloody Mary before their very eyes. Makes a great gift.”

Since I accidentally hit “off” instead of “snooze”, I knew I had to get up. Oh well, it’ll be a great time to get some writing done, right? Not so much.

“Rutter stared down the gunman in front of him. The square had gone silent and still, all the townsfolk hidden behind shuttered windows and barred doors. Neither man moved, hands hovering inches above their guns. Rutter’s eye flicked to the stranger’s holster, hand-crafted from the softest yearling leather and embellished with vintage floral embroidery on the seams. ‘Damn,’ Rutter thought. ‘That would have made a great gift for my wife.’”

“The pounding of drums grew ever louder, and as the frog-creatures cavorted about their bestial totem, an eldrich glow lit up the lake. Richter could only stare in horror as the waters surged, then broke, the head of the monster from beyond the edge of sanity bathed in that eerie light. Its thousand eyes were individually articulated, each one available in demon red, cat’s-eye yellow, or realistic pus-oozing green! The beast’s hide made it waterproof, perfect for taking out on a fall hike or a summer camp-out. One-of-a-kind and available from this frogman-infested lake only! Even as he screamed his way to madness, Richter knew he had been given a Great Gift.”

Eesh. I should probably go back to bed, except right now it’s full of child whose mosquito bite was Too Itchy and therefore Could Not Sleep. (”This Child is a mixture of two different strands of parental DNA! Super-cute and cuddly, perfect for those cool fall mornings when your summer blanket just won’t do. Hand-crafted and unique, no two Children are alike, so please allow for variations from the picture. Special orders, multiples? Convo me!” Considering how little sleep I’ve gotten, I can’t help but wonder who’d like a great gift…