I am sorry about missing last week. My three-day weekend was busy going to Idaho to see my family, especially my family from New Orleans. The Fiance (I love saying that!) and I flew to Idaho, and took the long way around. And on that long, long trip, I started a book that I fell in love with. Most of the books I have been reading lately are just complete garbage. And I don’t mean the topic is garbage, or that they are what I call “beach reads,” but that the writing is atrocious. I wonder sometimes HOW these people get published. Seriously.
But then I got for my nook a little book by Stephen King, one of my most favorite authors ever in the whole wide world. (I, however, admit that he is not perfect and that Dreamcatcher was one of THE worst books I have ever set eyes upon. The Stand and Bag of Bones totally make up for that piece of crap. We all make mistakes: look at George Lucas and Steven Spielberg!)
11/22/63: A Novel is some seriously fantastic writing by Mr. King. I swear, I think he gets better and better with old age. (I will say this now: it might turn out to be suck-ta-stick; one never knows how the end will be in a King novel, right?)
I got the book but really didn’t want to start reading it. I mean, what is King thinking, writing a conspiracy theory novel? He should stick to what he knows best: scaring the bejeezus outta me! But I started it, like the diligent fan I am, and I am pleased. Because it isn’t a conspiracy theory!! It’s … well, I can’t say because it will ruin the first 150 pages or so. But, needless to say, this is fantastic.
Seriously. Go out and buy it if you don’t already have it on your bookshelf, waiting patiently to be read. Seriously. I will wait….
I was right, wasn’t I? Trust your Auntie Felia.