Instead of saying, “what the fuck?” let’s start saying, “what the douche?”
Example: “What the douche is with Twitter?”
Isn’t that facebook status crap enough?
I’m away now, working on my book. Except for this moment where I am not working on my book at all.
It is 5:15pm and I have not spoken out loud today.
I brought two books with me. One, The Good Thief by Hannah Tinti is fucking amazing. I’m halfway through. So far, it’s my favorite book of the year. The second book, The Heretic’s Daughter by Kathleen Kent is standing by.
When I was a kid we used to go to my grandfather’s old house in Rye, NY. I had all these books there: Tuck Everlasting, Mandy, The Secret Garden. Even when I knew I was too old to be reading them, I’d spend my time there re-reading the books I didn’t want to grow out of. They made me feel safe and protected somehow, even if the fictional world I was brought into was dangerous. The experience I had reading books I loved brought me great comfort and Hannah Tinti’s book — while not a Young Adult book by any stretch — has brought to me the exact same intangible sense. I’d forgotten about that feeling (the “country feeling” I called it). Now it’s back. And I likey.