I didn’t have time before Hawaii to pick and choose my book. The trips have been coming fast and furious (in fact, I have one more in 2 weeks). Despite the loveliness that is travel, it also takes lots of time and energy. My priority was to buy a new bathing suit and jeans. Luckily, Land’s End/Sears served me well.
Back to books…Mom gave me 3 books before I came home from Atlanta. I cracked Sue Grafton’s latest…U (I think) the night before Wisconsin. I stayed up till 4am reading. I didn’t take it since it’s a hard back and I needed to travel light. I consumed it when I returned.
The second was A Heart for Horses by Molly Cross. The silhouetted cover of a girl riding a galloping horse beguiled Sara. I was interested in the premise – a female horse whisperer in rural Oregon during WWI. Fiction isn’t always gripping to me even with horses involved. I knew there’d be lots of other things mixed in, hard stories of life and trajedy. No popcorn fare. Like a cold ocean, I was slow to wander in. The book came to Vancouver. I blogged in short bursts of time. I opened it, but wasn’t grabbed.
Finally, the 5 hr flight to Maui came along. There was no other option. So I grabbed the paperbook on my nightstand. Time and boredom forced me into it. And I was glad they did.
So I didn’t mean to spend my time thinking about rural, ranching Oregon. I didn’t mean to be haunted by a story of a good man wracked with cancer so he can feel it thru his skin. I didn’t mean to feel the rawness of love. I didn’t mean to dream about the roughness of an Oregon winter outside on horseback or a girl struggling to be independent but falling in love, but I did. On the beached of Maui. In front of sunsets. It was a good plunge. A ‘for my own good’ type read.
Then I was left with nothing. And another 5 hr plane ride. I wandered into the common condo laundry room. Beach reading filled 2 shelves- romances, NYT bestsellers, thrillers. Nothing really took. I could have read another Sue Grafton of the past. Too soon. I chose James Patterson’s Sam’s Letters to Jennifer. The James Patterson I know writes tight crime thrillers with great characters, but gruesome crimes that pushed me away. This must be a different guy. The book is anything but tight. The story slips around throwing emotional curveballs at every turn without grabbing my emotions. If I see, “I laughed and I cried” on another page, I’ll scream. But I’m stuck. On a plane. Nicolas Sparks writes this type of stuff much better. Ahhhh, for an Oregon winter and an unbroken horse.