I just read, devoured, rather, a really great book. It is titled Good Grief by Lolly Winston. I started it yesterday afternoon and finished it today. A fabulous read! And of course, you can't really "Search Inside", as the picture suggests. I merely borrowed that image from Amazon.
I wasn't looking for a new book, exactly. I happened to be hanging out with some girlfriends at Barnes and Noble after a movie, sipping my peppermint mocha and perusing some interesting books (which I absolutely did not intend to buy), when one of the ladies makes a comment that strikes me funny just as I am taking a drink of my nice dark beverage and I, of course, spew it onto the lovely, pristine book jacket in front of me. It just so happened to be the above mentioned book. Luckily, it was bargain priced at $5.98.
This book had the perfect mix of humor, reality and tragedy, although I found the ending a little too Norman Rockwell. But most of all, I found it inspiring. It is exactly the kind of book I want to write. So now I'm feeling this overwhelming urge to get started.
Here's the weird thing.
There is this strange voice in my head narrating my every move, every tiny little happening in my life. For instance, when I walked down the steps of my porch today, here is what freaky, narrative voice said:
"She stepped out into the cold, brisk air, momentarily blinded by the brilliant sun reflected on the glittering snow. Clutching the cold, iron rail in her naked hand, she stepped, slowly, carefully, down the first of the icy steps, which seemed determined to bring her down."
This happened with everything. And I do mean E-V-E-R-Y-T-H-I-N-G.
This is either a really good sign, or the beginnings of schizophrenia.