Today’s Booking Through Thursday question:
Have you ever written an author a fan letter? Did you get an answer? Did it spark a conversation? A meeting? (And, sure, I suppose that e-mails DO count . . . but I’d say no to something like a message board on which the author happens to participate.)
Um, no, no, and no. I did once, however, write what I felt was a scathing letter to Larry McMurtry about Dead Man’s Walk (which I never finished before throwing it at my bedroom wall), accusing him of inconsistencies resulting from lazy editing on his part and a general disregard for the English language. I had read and loved Lonesome Dove in my late teens and found Streets of Laredo at least very good, and so I was highly annoyed that McMurtry had, in my opinion, written such an atrocious excuse for a prequel. I never mailed the letter and was just venting, but I thought my little rant so clever that I kept it in my book journal (yes, I have one – reason #88,634 why I am a dork). My thirty-one-year-old self is embarrassed every time she sees what her early twenties self wrote – because I, of course, have written so many books that I’ve lost count and have room to insult well-regarded, published authors.
Moving on… I have been doing less and less blogging and knitting as my pregnancy and subsequent misery have progressed. I have done some reading and a lot of sitting around and trying to be comfortable; everything else has kind of fallen by the wayside. I haven’t knit since I got the last Harry Potter book; I finished it a week ago, but I haven’t picked up the sticks or even another book yet. I feel guilty about all of it – all these UFOs and yarn staring me in the face, the joined-but-not-knit-for KALs, the neglected and therefore boring blog, not to mention piles of books – but at the same time, I really can’t help it. It’s just that bad right now.
So. My C-section is scheduled for the 24th. Three more weeks and counting!