What I'm Reading

January 2016- I'm listening to 'The Museum of Extraordinary Things' by Alice Hoffman.  I am in love with this book.  It is magical and mysterious and even though Judith Light annoys me a little with her weird trying-to-be-an-Orthodox-man-accent (I know, how dare I speak ill of Angela), I still find every excuse to pop my head phones in and listen, if only for a few minutes.  I also battle with myself not to listen because I don't really want it to end- it's one of those.

For some reason, I thought I had read a lot of Alice Hoffman, but I haven't.  I've only read one other book by her- 'Local Girls' and I'm afraid to say I don't remember what it was about at all.  I actually only remembered that I read it because I remembered the cover.  But this book, this book I will remember.

The story centers around Coralie, a young girl who lives with her ring master of a father.  He runs a 'freak show' on Coney Island in the early 1900's and, when Coralie turns ten, she becomes part of the show.  She meets a young photographer in the woods who is running from his past, the same way she's trying to run away from her future.

I'll let you know how it turns out, if I love the end as much as I love the beginning.

February 2015- I am currently re-reading the Harry Potter series.  This will be the 3rd time I've read the books since I started them just after college in 2000 or 2001.  I'm just at the end of The Prisoner of Azkaban right now and, honestly, I'm loving every moment.  These books- what makes these books work so well?  I wish I had the answer.  I am deeper into writing one of my novels than I've ever been- I completed a first draft and have started on the second, but I keep writing and re-writing the same characters, the same scene.  Admittedly, at least in my eyes, it's getting better each time.  But that doesn't make it any less frustrating.  I find myself analyzing every word, every sentence J.K. Rowling wrote, wondering if she agonized over it, picturing it all slowly freely from her fingertips to the page.  And I want to write like that.

Sometimes I can, but not about my two old ladies in Rufford Park.  

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