i've been in a bit of a book funk lately. Reading stuff that people have recommended to me, or books that had a lot of hype, or scanning the "New Releases" at the library for anything with an "SF" label on the spine, often reading whatever comes my way, and feeling somewhat obligated to get some enjoyment out of it.
suffice to say, lots of books have gone back to the library unfinished. i feel surrounded by not mediocrity, per say, but just books i didn't enjoy. and that's not a good feeling.
it's time to rekindle my love of good writing, fun adventures, and lovable characters by going back to my favorites. this is going to be the summer of the re-read.
in no particular order, my summer read list starts with:
Dream of the Dragon Pool, by Albert Dalia
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand
The Sun, the Moon, and The Stars, by Steven Brust
The Lies of Locke Lamora, by Scott Lynch
Whitechapel Gods, by S.M Peters
The Anubis Gates, by Tim Powers
Cat's Cradle, by Kurt Vonnegut
Frank Herbert's Dune series - starting with book 2, because i've read the first book about 100 times.
Some good old Robert Heinlein, maybe Friday, or Stranger in a Strange Land
that should keep me busy for a few weeks, and by then, hopefully I'll be out of my funk.
what's this i say, about death, and dark wings? i live in a fairly suburban area, with plenty of wildlife and college students. the crickets start up around 7pm. and while this can be a nice, calming sound, by 4am (i'm a crazy light sleeper), i kinda wish the crickets would just shut up already. and by then, the birds have started, and soon it's time for me to get up anyways. short of getting some ambien, it was time to do something about those darn crickets.
can you say bird seed?
and i dumped a whole bunch right by where i always hear the crickets.
damn right death comes on dark wings.