My most favorite thing in the world is to hibernate with a great murder mystery. There comes a time when you have read every single James Patterson novel along with every other mystery novelist you’ve ever heard of. Life looks bleak. Winter is coming and you need a pacifier.
I strolled up the library today, in one last attempt to discover a writer who had enough novels to keep me busy for the winter. I cruised the stacks looking for someone who had lots of books with similar looking covers. That usually means they are fairly good writers, if only because they are popular.
Bingo! Nelson Demille had a whole section. The D’s were low enough for me to see without my glasses, so I pulled out a volume titled “Plum Island.” I immediately turned to the back to see what he looked like. (I like to read handsome mystery writers.) He was pretty cute. I checked it out.
Home again, I settled in my big easy chair and opened the book. The first paragraph read:
“I John Corey by name, convalescing cop by profession, was sitting on my uncle’s back porch, deep in a wicker chair with shallow thoughts running through my mind. It occurred to me that the problem with doing nothing is not knowing when you’re finished.”
Oh my gosh. This is my soul mate. I’ve been doing nothing for three months and I’m not finished either. I was hooked. This is going to be delicious.
Later: I ‘m on page 122 and loving every word.