![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mystery meat
Oct. 16th, 2005 10:13 amI had no idea it had been so long since I updated. I wrote something a few days ago but it was so depressing I ditched it instead of posting it. It's been a bad week for migraines-- I've had one nearly every day, and several days they were bad ones instead of the usual nagging half-there type. About all I can do when I have a migraine is read. I can't concentrate enough to start anything new, and moving around isn't good, and bright light hurts so going for a walk isn't a good plan either. Of course, it rained all week so I would have gotten soaked instead, and you know how well I love getting wet. All in all, not a good week.
The books I read were an interesting group. I would just go to the library and get 8 or 10 books (all mysteries.) Sometimes I was lucky enough to find books by an author I knew I liked, but sometimes I had to settle for potluck (so to speak.) For some unknown reason, three of the books turned out to be about caterers. Who knew that caterers had such an affinity for murder? Sounds like a damned dangerous occupation to me. Mysteries featuring caterers tend to have recipes; sometimes they are collected at the back of the book, sometimes just stuck in the middle of the damn story. Now there's a natural combination-- sudden death and recipes. You can bet I'm going to take a break from clues to scope out a recipe for chili. One of the mysteries that wasn't even about a caterer had recipes in it. Weird. The same visit I got all the cookbook mysteries, the other half of the books turned out to be creepy things about stalkers and serial killers who cut up their victims. At least they didn't cook and eat them, though there was this good chili recipe.... I was a lot more careful about the next batch of books I got.
I get into sub-genre trends, I guess you'd say. I can't switch back and forth between cozies and noir, for example, though I've had perpiods of reading each of them. My preference lately has been pretty middle ground-- I want good clean writing and plots without a lot of kink or cutesy romance. When I get to a sentence that reads "Detective Spencer Malone drew his 1977, cherry-red, mint-condition Chevy Camaro to a stop in front of the City Park neighborhood double," I start seeing little pink hearts around the edge of the page. I was relieved when the rest of the book failed to deliver on that promise.
Fortunately, the migraines have eased up enough that I've been able to get off the couch and do a few things. Maybe today I can do a few more things.
The books I read were an interesting group. I would just go to the library and get 8 or 10 books (all mysteries.) Sometimes I was lucky enough to find books by an author I knew I liked, but sometimes I had to settle for potluck (so to speak.) For some unknown reason, three of the books turned out to be about caterers. Who knew that caterers had such an affinity for murder? Sounds like a damned dangerous occupation to me. Mysteries featuring caterers tend to have recipes; sometimes they are collected at the back of the book, sometimes just stuck in the middle of the damn story. Now there's a natural combination-- sudden death and recipes. You can bet I'm going to take a break from clues to scope out a recipe for chili. One of the mysteries that wasn't even about a caterer had recipes in it. Weird. The same visit I got all the cookbook mysteries, the other half of the books turned out to be creepy things about stalkers and serial killers who cut up their victims. At least they didn't cook and eat them, though there was this good chili recipe.... I was a lot more careful about the next batch of books I got.
I get into sub-genre trends, I guess you'd say. I can't switch back and forth between cozies and noir, for example, though I've had perpiods of reading each of them. My preference lately has been pretty middle ground-- I want good clean writing and plots without a lot of kink or cutesy romance. When I get to a sentence that reads "Detective Spencer Malone drew his 1977, cherry-red, mint-condition Chevy Camaro to a stop in front of the City Park neighborhood double," I start seeing little pink hearts around the edge of the page. I was relieved when the rest of the book failed to deliver on that promise.
Fortunately, the migraines have eased up enough that I've been able to get off the couch and do a few things. Maybe today I can do a few more things.
