I've had a walk with a friend this morning. It rained lightly part of last night, which was a huge surprise. The plants needed it. The overcast thing is dreary, though. I'll be grateful to get up to the cabin maybe next week or for sure the week after.
I'm reading a pretty funny book about a writer's agent who has a mysterious guy sabotaging the agency. It's a good insider's look at publishing, and the characters are delightful. Good escape fiction. I actually think I'm developing some compassion for literary agents. Or it may be the lingering effects of the flu.
My husband is deeply engrossed in Dan Brown's new book. It is a fun read, and with the setting in Florence, what's not to like? I have persuaded him to read some mysteries, and he especially loves Craig Johnson's, set in Wyoming and very funny and well plotted. I've been waiting for Louise Penny's new book to arrive, as I love her mysteries, set in Quebec. Canadian writers rule. Alice Munro is the best short story writer on the planet, and I've always adored Margaret Atwood. Maybe I'll discover some new writers during our week in Vancouver.
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