In Which Our Heroine Gives Her Reports

4 August 2004

My mother's e-mail this morning ended with, "And now I shall attempt to perform the death-defying...oh, wait."

Just in case you wondered where I got it from.

Mark took me to the doctor yesterday, and the doctor prescribed the Yellow Spheres of Death again! I know how to deal with the YSoD. I know that when they warn that these things cause dizziness, they mean it. I also know that it's better than cracking another rib or making myself dizzy with coughing. (I'm still coughing. Just not reflexively with the tickledy throat thing.) The doctor predicts that it'll last another ten days from yesterday. I hope the doctor is wrong.

I'm supposed to rest, though, and not do a heck of a lot. "Do you need a note to get you out of work?" said the doctor, and I said, "No, I'm self-employed," but Mark thought I should have gotten the note and taped it to the monitor. So. Taking it easy. Yes. Sorting out the to-do list for things I need to delegate or postpone.

I still have no voice.

So I've been reading a lot since I last gave you my book report. I read Philip Pullman's The Tin Princess, which was fun and wasn't preachy like he gets. Victorian adventure YA. I like those, actually. Lots of good stuff going on. Maybe someday I'll -- no no no, la la la, I'm not going to think of it, because if I do, I will poke at it until it becomes a full-fledged novel idea. So there.

I also read Mary Gentle's Grunts!. Meh. It had its funny moments but was not as funny throughout as I would have hoped for the premise. Probably my least favorite Mary Gentle book so far. That is, of course, not saying a lot: in case you hadn't noticed, I like her stuff. Then I read Robert Heinlein's For Us the Living, which was almost totally didactic in a way that amused the heck out of me: "'I'm glad you brought that point up, Perry!'" Of course you are. Timprov's assessment ("Narrative version of the future history checklist, with some extra detail. Mary Sue out the wazoo.") was dead on. Also I read Charles de Lint's The Harp of the Grey Rose, which was muuuuuch better than the last de Lint I read, possibly because it was written before he got into his current rut.

Now I'm reading Stella's copy of Patricia Briggs's Dragon Blood, and it is, as expected, a solid fantasy novel, fun to read, nothing too exceptionally special. It's the sequel to Dragon Bones, which I've read, so it was on my list of books from which I feel I know what to expect.

I'm really whumped, so I'm going to get another glass of water and lie back down with Dragon Blood. I would like you to know that gargling with salt water is a nasty horrible thing on all fronts, but various reliable sources including the doctor claim it will help, so I'm doing it thrice daily. Virtuous, see? Very virtuous. That ought to mean I get to get better sooner. Sigh.

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