Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Today I am grateful for mystery writer, Lisa Scottoline. And I hate her. When I pick up one of her books I know I’m in trouble and so is the rest of my life, because her stories consume me. The latest devil was “Courting Trouble”, which she published in 2002. I knew it was a long time ago when I read the acknowledgements because she listed the love of her husband, who is probably “thing two”. She is now single, long divorced from “thing one and thing two”, her words, not mine as she refers to them in her column in The Inquirer, in Philly.
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I seem to have a lingering bug since coming back from Florida. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, Wednesday and I suspect she will say I have an ear infection, sinus infection, strep throat, mononucleosis, berri-berri, or plague. I won’t be hanging my medical shingle out anytime soon. The bottom line is that whatever it is, it has knocked me off my feet. I wander around getting some stuff done and then I fall into the recliner to catch up on the shows I recorded while gone. Then when I wake up I rewind and try again. Repeat 10 times a day.
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Bored with TV, I picked up the book, which I had barely started while in Florida. Then as I carried the book with me like an extra appendage, while I shifted from chair, to kitchen table and the sun, to the bathroom (come on, you do, too), to couch, I cursed Lisa. . .again. What is it about her writing? Is it the strong female characters? Yes. Who doesn’t aspire to be a strong, funny, independent woman. . .especially if you already qualify for one out of three? Is it the fact that she uses Philadelphia and the surrounding areas for all of her locations? Yes. I can picture every single place she mentions. That’s fun. Is it the murder, suspense, mystery, sex, intrigue, humor and passion that envelop every story? Yes. Because living vicariously is safer, cheaper and less complicated than living all of that for real. And you can stay out of jail, which is always good.
If you like mysteries and have never read a Lisa Scottoline book, then find one and read it. I guarantee you will read another and another. I hope you do. That way you can be grateful that she’s consumed your life, too. The bitch! I hate her! I love her! Pass the pretzels. . .and the next book!
