Current mood:

lazy

Not so good at this, am I?
I blame being too busy at work, and not being thrilled at the idea of going online when at home.

But at the moment, I am waiting for an email to rescue me from my current blocking situation, and don't feel like doing anything useful while I wait.

a few seconds later

Must bear in mind that if waiting for an email, starting an LJ entry is a good way to make it arrive... but I'm still blocked, so still typing.

Anyway, nothing in particular to talk about. Next week I'm off to Åcon - hurray! - and am slated in for the Great Forgettable Reads panel, which suits me to a T, and applies to nearly everything that I have ever read, except for the Crap Forgettable Reads, and The Keeper by Gareth O'Callaghan which is unfortunately seared into my memory as the Worst Book I Will Ever Read.

In maybe the stupidest thing I have done since I got stranded in Isafjordur when the roads closed for the winter, I will be flying to Ahvenanmaa instead of taking trains and boats. Actually, maybe it is stupider than getting stranded in Isafjordur, because that time I had no choice but to get into a tiny plane and get religion again. I don't know what I was thinking when I booked my tickets on Air Aland, but it wasn't straight. In addition, as if that isn't dumb enough, I'm arriving a day earlier than everybody else. In fact, a day earlier than the hotel even opens.

I must be getting old. Next thing I'll be forgetting how to use Reply to all and whether it is okay to delete shortcuts from the desktop, and then it will be a rapid slide into complaining about where the power switch is hidden and spamming my family with virus-ridden emails. My dad turned seventy last week and broke his hard drive.

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Still no sign of a rescuing email.

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I was going to use my LJ to write a book diary this year - okay, I was going to do that last year as well, but this year I think my intentions were better. Obviously, I can barely remember anything that I read more than a couple of weeks ago (titles and authors are written down, impressions are just gone), so I'll just dive in in the middle.

27. The Woods by Harlan Coben. Reviews elsewhere have said that this is his best, but I didn't think it was. Twists and turns and enough plotting to make you paranoid, as usual with his books, but there weren't as many "oh my GAWD" moments as in others. I can't say anything about the plot beyond what the blurb says, or else it is spoiled, but a not-his-best from Harlan Coben is still a mind-bendingly good thriller, so - recommended.

28. The Intruders by Michael Marshall. A great book, with horribly creepy bits. It may be a cliché, but evil nine-year-old girls get me every time, and this one isn't evil in the way you expect either. Minor criticisms about the narrative voice (a bit too stock) and the ending (which I hope is actually just a red herring for a sequel) don't detract much from a very enjoyable read.

29. Dreamsongs by George R.R. Martin. I was surprised to find that I had read only a couple of the stories in this collection before, and even more surprised to find that those couple did not include Sandkings (I could have sworn I had read it, hasn't everybody read it??) I didn't like the stories in the first section, his very earliest work written for comics fandom, but I've never been a comics fan so I wouldn't like to say that they were bad. Especially since almost every other story in the collection bowled me over - seriously, pick any of those stories, compare to something from a recent-ish Interzone, and you'll cancel your subscription. I can't even pick a favourite, so I'll just mention that I screamed a girly scream when finnbear unexpectedly came home while I was in the middle of reading "The Pear-Shaped Man".

Ongoing reading: The Atrocity Archives by Charles Stross (good so far, but I prefer The Jennifer Morgue) and audiobook The Sleeping Doll by Jeffrey Deaver (pants, but maybe because I don't like the reader's voice).