It's back to the roots or rather back to my go-to genre of choice as of lately. Let's blame the season, because it's perfect cozy mystery weather which means I'm all for delving into murderous activities in small town settings. This one, as it so happens, takes place in Booktown, a place where everyone seems to own a bookstore and one particular shop owner always ends up stumbling over dead bodies. All in all your average mysteries with the bonus of a bookish setting.
|Bookmarked for Death / Bookplate Special / Sentenced to Death (Lorna Barrett)|
the writing desk
Good thing I only signed up to NaNoWriMo in my mind (yep, completely forgot to actually sign up for it), because I'm currently slightly writing-impaired (yeah, I can still type ... a bit) thus mostly plotting in my mind now too. Now why's that? First I accidentally hit my wrist against a sharp edge of the faucet while cleaning the bath, then I had a slight disagreement with the garage door and pulled a tendon in the same hand, and to round things up, one wrong move later my right shoulder was making a funny grinding sound accompanied by another dose of pain. I'm not sure whether to blame the universe for this or whether I'm simply a klutz. I'd rather do some accusing finger pointing toward the great heavens. Here's to healing and more actual writing next week.
This one isn't about etymology. Or strange words. It's about the figures of rhetoric. To read or not to read should not be the question when it comes to The Elements of Eloquence. One might not end up like Shakespeare, but one might learn a thing or two. About diacopes, for example. Have got nothing to say? Never mind, from here on out you can at least say it well.
the book hoarder
Still waiting for most of my AwesomeBooks haul which kinda puts me on edge. Yep, I'm always getting nervous when one part of an order only takes a few days and the rest doesn't show up for another couple of weeks. Not as though I wouldn't have experienced this phenomenon before. Oh ye Bookshop-Gods, let me have all my books, pretty please!
The little pink slip said, "Reminder: Please claim this bag at planeside." I do wonder whether the former owner of the book, which held this small piece of paper, has been so lost in thought while solving fictitious crimes that they never claimed their bag? Former book owner and former bag owner? Who knows? And my inner cozy mystery crime solver can't help but wonder whether that bag went unclaimed because of the body parts hidden inside. Vivid imagination? Me? I guess so. What are the strangest things you've ever found in used books?