Sometimes I read something and I'm motivated to either kill myself or seek out the author and bow down before him/her... and I'm not sure which it is. When I read popcorn mysteries that I like, or romances, or a lot of your standard, run-of-the-mill genre fiction, I feel secure in myself as a writer and I think, "I can do that... or a whole hell of a lot better." But then I read a book where the writing is SO GOOD I want to bite my own wrists. Mr. Norrell and Jonathan Strange was one of those; I'm finding The Prestige to be another. They re-wrote the story significantly for the movie, so if you've only seen the film, DO read the book. It's fascinating and gripping and written from so many angles it's breathtaking. I wish I could be so amazing, so innovative, so unusual and new and brilliant and all that stuff. Aiee, my work is derivative and boring and of course no one wants to read it... (SLAP!) Okay, anyway, it's a really good book (and I'm not even done with it yet).
New package going out to an agent this week. (crossed fingers)
I'm heading off to Vegas with Mom on Tuesday, and will be gone until Friday; will likely bring along the laptop if only to use the new rolling laptop case Mom bought us for Christmas. I will have to check some baggage, of course, though, because, duh, toothpaste and lotion and such.
Well, back to work. Making some progress on third novel. Just keep writing!