Compliments of Guest Blogger, The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer
Well it happened again last night. I started reading a well-known book (Anne Tyler’s Ladder of Years) and I couldn’t do it. Couldn’t read it. It was just so much pablum. I even checked the end to see if anything happened that I would miss. Nope. And this has become more frequent of late.
Take “50 Shades of Grey.” I’ve found cookbooks more compelling. Now I consider myself knowledgeable about sex; I’ve seen some interesting movies. If memory serves, everybody has the same basic original equipment but honestly, eventually you have to run out of things to do with it. I could probably write a short story, or even a novelette, but to write three books about sex between two people there would have to be clowns and a horse involved.
I couldn’t read “The Life of Pi.” I tried three times and you would have to duct tape me to the couch to get me to try again. The premise was so interesting and I understand the movie was beautiful, but the book was… boring. I bailed on “The DaVinci Code” halfway through even though self-flagellation is one of my very favorite topics.
I’ve been a big fan of bodice rippers all my life, but I am unable to get past the lack of hygienic facilities on a wagon train, or under the wagon train for that matter. So I cannot suspend disbelief to read them anymore.
I’m looking for that book that holds my attention and makes me think about it when I’m not reading. It holds me captive forcing me to read late into the night. Laundry piles up around me but I have to read. I can’t return calls. It’s all about the book.
Read anything like that lately? I’m all eyes and ears….
The Oldest Living Middle-Aged Writer lives in Midwestern flyover country with her dogs. There have been reported sightings of her husband. In between innings of the Cubs game she is working on her web site and can be contacted at firstname.lastname@example.org.