My parents were visiting this weekend, which means they brought me my favorite things: books, and then bought me my favorite things: books. was a very enjoyable weekend hanging out with the 'rents.
the now out of control "to be read" list looks something like this -
The Servants, by Michael Marshall Smith
The January Dancer, by Michael Flynn
A Voyage Long and Strange, by Tony Horwitz
Kitchen Confidential, by Anthony Bourdain
A Storm of Swords, by George R R Martin
Soul Catcher, by Frank Herbert
Action Philosophers, Volume II, by Fred Van Lente and Ryan Dunlavey
Rice & Risottos (cookbook), by Elizabeth Wolf Coren
Not to mention that I'm desperately trying to finish "Someplace to be Flying", by Charles deLint, which i am happy to say i am in love with. Many years ago, i read most of deLint's discography, till i realized he only had maybe a story and a half to tell. I'm thinking Neil Gaiman and deLint had a sit down one day, where Gaiman said to deLint "what the hell are you doing? Can i show you how it's done?" and he did. and it was. review forthcoming. . . eventually.
That said, where did all my time to read go? I work less hours these days, have fewer obligations, yet i barely get through 50 pages a day, when in previous years, i could easily get through 150 pages a day. What's the most tactful way of saying to a loved one "leave me alone so i can finish this damn book!"?