Thursday, June 15, 2017

Stream of Unconnected Thoughts

     It’s rainy, a bit muggy, and the dark gathers itself for the beginning of the evening. The newscast talking heads will continue to explore every nuance of our country’s descent into incivility. The United States Open will feature several beyond belief shots from knee high fescue grass. The weather people will offer their spin on the computer model printouts— rain, humidity, the future.
     And we will hear more about the climate, the rising sea, and the naysayers will plug their ears and say, “made up, not so, not so.” 

     Amazon is now in the grocery business? Will drone deliveries be in the horizon? 
     Tomorrow other folks used books will be on sale at the town library. Mysteries and thrillers go first.
      Which brings me to what I began thinking about the moment I entered the house—reading. Should I start the debut novel about a serial killer who buried thirty-one bodies beneath the garage? His wife, according to one reviewer never knew and never entered the garage. It did receive good reviews. Perhaps a book of short stories or the start of another series. Perhaps I should approach tonight’s reading as a smorgasbord and read twenty pages in one book and twenty in another. Will the characters from the serial killer novel emigrate to the dinner party In the short story book?           Or even more disturbing— will the deprived serial killer step into the cozy mystery series?


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