Or some bullshit.
Listen- I'm well into the third book and I feel as if I am living in two worlds right now. This one right here in Lloyd, and the one created in the mind of Ms. Gabaldon who is an amazing storyteller and a fine writer and I'm a jerk for implying she's not.
Also, the back-beatings have almost disappeared.
We read for many reasons. To gain knowledge, to be inspired, to enter worlds and minds we otherwise would have no access to.
And to be entertained and delighted and enlightened and, and, and...
So. Just wanted to say that I was wrong and that I'm glad I found these books (thank you, Lily) and there ain't a thing wrong with the writing of them. Right now we are sailing together across the sea to find a kidnapped nephew, and Jamie's seasickness has been cured by a Chinaman who has knowledge of acupuncture.
It is a glorious ride and compared to the news of the world, an utter escape into a different time, a different reality.
I'm grateful for it.
There was something else I was going to say but I've forgotten what it was.
Maybe by tonight I'll have remembered.
Or maybe not.
I'm also listening to a Jane Fonda book in my car and although I went into that with great reservation (she's so earnest), I am gleaning a few things there. One thing she says about aging is that yes, she forgets things but she has more insight.
I would like to believe that is true.
It's cold here! And getting colder!