Now that I’ve passed my college class (got a B in my introductory theatre class) and subjected myself to the rigors of party life (see last entry), life has taken a rather bland turn. I filled it in the last week and a half by devouring two vampire novels and discovering a new author to stir the emotional pot of my previously sedentary soul: Stephenie Meyer. She may be classified as a writer of YA (young adult) fiction, but this middle-aged bat didn’t feel at all talked down to after consuming Twilight and New Moon, the first two novels in a planned series, in an insane marathon which left my eyes dry (not that it didn’t move me to tears on occasion before the last word was read, but I often forgot to blink).
As a devotee of Chelsea Quinn Yarbro and Anne Rice, it was good to have some reading material for those times in-between serial installments to keep my mind occupied. I also have a stack of cheesy paperbacks ready for ingestion and, with any luck, I’ll have them devoured and my own novel written by the end of summer. It’s a goal, anyway.
As for the times I spend as an audience member in darkened theatre houses, I was thrilled to see so much enthusiasm about the latest production of Les Miserables in Philadelphia. Having made the pleasant discovery of Hugh Panaro, a local who has played the Phantom on Broadway and toured Europe with Barbra Streisand, I was anxious to see wonderful reviews of his turn as Jean Valjean. The critics are almost unanimous in their praise of his marvelous performance: the one less than kind reviewer may have needed his morning aspirin and coffee before sitting down to his computer. Anyway, I’m going to plant my tush in a theatre seat again after over two years to see the show for my first time in July: I have that long to lose ten pounds, too.
The other distraction that has kept me sane has been the ongoing saga of the goslings behind our office building. The oldest ones are starting to look like the real thing, only more teenagerly (is that a word?) and gangly with no flight feathers. The youngest pair, which hatched just weeks ago, are a cause for concern, as they are obviously late bloomers and won’t fledge until at least July. According to goose experts, the parents don’t have their own flight feathers back until June, so I wonder how the other family will fare: will the parents gain their freedom and abandon their young? Will they fall victim to predators (as one did within days of its birth)? Am I sounding like I don’t have my life quite in order yet, because I’m ranting about trivial matters?
Where is that next paperback?
Susan's Scribblings the Blog 