That's me at my local Argo, where I go to work on the book. As you can see, I wasn't working on it much last night.
On the table is my Kindle, and in the Kindle is one of the most life-sucking books I've ever read. It's The Pillars of the Earth, by Ken Follett. It was recommended to me by several people over the years who knew I enjoyed historical fiction.
I resisted for a long time. Follett normally writes potboilers, and this was a departure for him. Between its epic length (nearly a thousand pages) and its setting (Ye Olde Medieval Tymes), I was concerned it was going to be some kind of Frodo/Hobbit/Fantasy-type book.
But it was about the building of a cathedral and I'm a huge fan of churches and cathedrals. (Don't care much for religion, but I love the architecture.) And I do enjoy, you know, learning stuff. In that respect it's been great.
On the other hand, it's a bit of a melodramatic bodice-ripper. I mean, the guy can really weave a freakin' tale, but I'm feeling a little bit manipulated by the whole thing.
And I'm mesmerized. I was up until 1:30 almost every night this week because I couldn't put the damned thing down. (What's a page-turner on the Kindle? A "next-clicker?")
Wednesday night's events were so horrific I actually went to bed and woke up kinda depressed and anguished for the characters. Insanity! Which is why last night I put aside book writing to do some book reading.
Unfortunately, just as things started getting better for the characters, they got worse again. This thing is killing me!
And I can't wait to pick it up again. But I am not -- NOT -- going to read the sequel. I swear.