Welcome, 2013!

The weather has been grey today, the temperature dropping from a morning high of 57 degrees.  I went out to get my newspaper at 8:30 and haven’t been out the door since.  I spent a chunk of the morning (after reading the paper and watching an old Perry Mason episode) dithering over all the Productive Tasks I thought I should accomplish on my day off.  I have lists of them, on my computer monitor, on scraps of paper, in my head.  Pieces I need to write, tasks for my RWA chapter, sections of the house to clean and declutter, and so on.  I’m not very good at relaxing.

I finally convinced myself that this was a Day Off, for heaven’s sake, and I settled on the couch with Nutmeg the cat, a Mysteries in the Museum marathon running on the background TV, and Janet Evanovich’s Notorious Nineteen.  Stephanie Plum’s insane adventures kept me entertained all afternoon, as she and Lula tracked down a few bad guys, blew up a few cars, and made me laugh out loud more than once.

I haven’t had (or given myself) too many chances to sit down and read a book for a while.  I used to read a hundred or more books a year easily, but it’s harder to do that when you work full time at a paying job and take up writing as your other job.  Doesn’t leave a lot of time, and it’s way too easy to fall asleep over even a good book late at night.

This year I read 39 books.  Yes, I keep a list (you mean not everyone does?).  Ten romances (six on paper, four on Kindle), ranging from Regency (Cheryl Bolen) to steampunk (Zoe Archer), paranormal (Darynda Jones) to inspirational (Deeanne Gist), mostly contemporary settings.  I would read more romance–I have stacks of them To Be Read–if I wasn’t writing romance myself.  I suppose I’m afraid of seepage.  And, of course, if I had more time, because I love other genres, too.

I read nine mystery novels (only one on Kindle) this year, mostly on the humorous end, by Diane Kelly, Elaine Viets, Joan Hess, Susan M. Boyer, and Spencer Quinn, with Marcia Muller on the more serious side and Margaret Maron in the middle.   I only read five science fiction novels (one on Kindle), although it’s not easy to draw a line–Zoe Archer’s romance titles are also science fiction, and Sharon Lynn Fisher’s Ghost Planet is also a romance.

I also read four uncategorized mainstream novels, two on Kindle and two on paper, and eleven non-fiction books (six on Kindle, five on paper).  Of the non-fiction, four were on writing topics and three on social media.  The others included a gorgeously illustrated book on all things steampunk and a massive (but fascinating) biography of Queen Elizabeth II.

Here on my blog, WordPress tells me, I published 81 posts in 2012, with 91 pictures.  I had 21,000 page views (I stand amazed!) by visitors from 96 countries (most of them from the US, with significant numbers from Canada, the UK and Australia).  My most-read posts all concern the TV show Hell on Wheels;  that was hardly my goal when I began blogging, but I do find the show fascinating, and I’m looking forward to the next season.

On the writing front, I’m afraid I’ve been more involved in RWA activities than in actual writing.  I’ve served as president of the West Houston chapter (that’s a chunk of the To Do list on my computer monitor right there), been a finalist in the Golden Heart contest for the second year in a row, and traveled to the RWA national conference in Anaheim.  I’ve written columns and articles for my chapters’ newsletters.  I’ve done quite a bit of editing/revising/polishing, begun a new novel, and I’m learning to use Scrivener.

So, in short, I always have two or three bookmarks in play, even if I don’t get through the books as fast as I used to.  I’m building my “Internet platform,” but only as fast as I enjoy doing so.  And I’m pretty much always planning, plotting, or writing something.  I hope to continue all of this through 2013.  Maybe I’ll even manage to clean the rest of the house and hire someone to do something about my yard.  And remodel the bathrooms.  Maybe.

Happy New Year 2013

Buying Books Again

Well, that’s hardly news.  How about this:  I went into the local Barnes & Noble yesterday and didn’t buy any books at all.  I was there to pick up some gift cards, but I did wander through the store, looking.  I’m afraid, though, that I’ve reached the point of feeling a bit overwhelmed in a giant bookstore, and find myself wishing, not for the first time, that there were more small ones left in the world.  There’s just too much clamoring for my attention in the big ones.

Not that I wasn’t tempted.  But I have two book orders outstanding, not to mention a couple of recent instant gratification episodes involving my Kindle.  And no more time to read than usual.

Last weekend I ordered a stack of paperbacks from Amazon.  Three of my Starcatcher sisters have books just out, their Golden Heart finalist manuscripts now in print, and I wanted paper copies of those:  Valerie Bowman’s Secrets of a Wedding Night, Tracy Brogan’s Crazy Little Thing, and Sharon Lynn Fisher’s Ghost Planet.

As long as I was there, I ordered Elaine Viets’ latest Josie Marcus, Mystery Shopper mystery, Murder Is a Piece of Cake.  Josie Marcus and Helen Hawthorne, Viets’ other series character, are two of my favorites, and I’ve read them all.  Amazon was running a buy three, get one free sale that day, and three of my four books qualified, so I ordered one more, Dipped, Stripped and Dead, by Elise Hyatt, the first in a series recommended by my friend Jane Perrine.

Then I wandered over to the Mystery Guild and preordered another stack by favorite mystery authors:  Janet Evanovich’s Notorious Nineteen, Margaret Maron’s The Buzzard Table, and Marcia Muller’s Looking for Yesterday.  These are all the latest installments in series I’ve been reading since their first cases, featuring Stephanie Plum (Evanovich), Deborah Knott (Maron), and Sharon McCone (Muller).   And, from one of my favorite SF series, I ordered Lois McMaster Bujold’s new Vorkosigan novel, Captain Vorpatril’s Alliance.

While I’m waiting for all those paper books to arrive, I downloaded Heather MacAllister’s Haunted Spouse, a Halloween romance about an architect who specializes in designing Haunted Houses.  Who knew?  I started reading this one at lunch yesterday, and it’s charming and fun.

I know I’ll never catch up.  I don’t care.  There are so many worse vices and more dangerous addictions.  Binge book buying seems pretty tame in comparison.

The Influence of Books, part 4

Yes, I still have my little slip of note paper by the computer, with my off-the-top-of-my-head notes on authors I read long ago.  Next up: mystery novels.

I love mysteries, always have.  Both my parents were avid mystery readers, and my mother introduced me to her favorites early on.  I’ve belonged to the Doubleday Mystery Guild since I lived in Louisiana, far from any book store, in the late 1960s.  Today I have a whole list of must-buy mystery authors.  On the humorous end, I love Elaine Viets, Janet Evanovich, Joan Hess, and Spencer Quinn.  On the more serious side, I’ve followed Sue Grafton and Marcia Muller since their debuts.  I’ve read everything from Ed McBain’s hard core procedurals, set in Isola, McBain’s version of mid-twentieth century New York City, to Robert Van Gulik’s Judge Dee mysteries, based on 18th century Chinese detective stories.

The three mystery authors on my notepad list are Agatha Christie, Ngaio Marsh, and Rex Stout.  They weren’t the only classic detective novelists I read–Dorothy Sayers, Josephine Tey, Margery Allingham, and Ellery Queen come to mind–but they were prolific and addictive.

Agatha Christie (1890-1976) was my mother’s favorite.  For years Mom carried a list of Christie’s countless titles, so that she could check the copyright page for alternate titles before she bought a paperback.  Christie was British, and her American publishers often changed her titles.  Whether that was an effort to sell more books to careless buyers or because they thought American readers wouldn’t understand the original British titles, I don’t know.  I spent a couple of long hot summers in New Orleans when I was in grad school at Tulane reading Christie in a hammock on my apartment porch, now and then riding my bicycle or taking the St. Charles Avenue trolley to a book store for more paperbacks.  I’m pretty sure I read every mystery Dame Agatha wrote.

Ngaio Marsh (1895-1982) was a New Zealander, but she spent much of her time, and set most of her novels, in England.  Her sophisticated and intellectual detective hero, Roderick Alleyn, was an aristocrat who chose to make a career in the police.  His romance with (and eventual marriage to) a rather Bohemian artist named Agatha Troy ran through the series, written between 1934 and 1982.  I read every one of Marsh’s novels, too.

Rex Stout (1886-1975) recorded the cases of eccentric detective Nero Wolfe from 1934 to 1975.  The novels were narrated by Archie Godwin, Wolfe’s assistant and leg man; Wolfe himself rarely left his New York brownstone, preferring to solve mysteries while meditating in his office or nurturing the orchids in his greenhouse.  I never missed one of Wolfe’s adventures (and I have on my DVD shelf a boxed set of the excellent TV adaptations featuring Timothy Hutton as Archie and Maury Chaykin as Wolfe).

All of those old classics have slipped out of my library over the years, replaced by more modern tastes and contemporary authors.  I’ll probably never get the urge to track them down again–there are just too many new mysteries to read, including several that I ordered from the Mystery Guild a few days ago.  But I cut my mystery-lover’s teeth on decades of novels from Christie, Marsh, and Stout.

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