Piddling Drivel

  Being a fan of things of a darker nature in general I typically scour the library shelves for spines with black and red.  Now, I know this is not the best way to select books, but it's how I usually do it, and this past weekend did not disappoint.  I've just finished Minette Walters' The Cellar, and this one was right up my alley.  The pacing, the voice and characters were perfect, and it was hard to put down once I cracked it open.  It's the kind of story I'd hope to come up with myself, and it left me curious about her other novels. The protagonist is a young African immigrant enslaved in a British home who quietly becomes her adoptive family's own worst nightmare.  She suffers at their hands, but ends up having the last laugh, so to speak. That's all I'll give away.  Check it out for yourselves if it sounds interesting.

There is nothing quite like the early morning hours, when I know most people are still warm in their beds, snoring away.     The silence is blissful, the tick of the baseboard heaters as the steam flows through their pipes and the hum of the laptop soothe me.  Even the coffee sliding down my throat seems amplified.  Occasionally, a vehicle passes by, but it's only a brief interruption in my silence.  My cat, a sleek tabby companion of twelve years graces my lap and I am forced to slide the laptop closer to my knees.  I pause to reward his steadfast loyalty with long, slow strokes of his silky coat.  Soon the rest of the world will be waking and my little bubble will burst.  Even on weekends, "sleeping in" for me means up by five or thereabouts.  My mornings are my time.  As I sit here, I think, I yawn and think some more.  I type, I stretch and type some more.  Soon, I'll have to leave this world and get ready to face the real one.  Duty calls, money needs to be made.

I'm trying to determine whether this is a record review, a rant or a sad nod to a failing memory- I've had a love/hate relationship with Elton John since the early seventies.  I wish I could remember which of his fantastic hits was the first I'd heard, or where/when, exactly, I heard it.  Sadly, my brain has failed me over the years, and these are among the memories that have slipped into a void, never to be retrieved. I used to be the proud owner of a gargantuan vinyl collection, a good portion of which was the majority of Elton's catalog.  One of the very first albums I bought was "11-17-70", his first live album, broadcast by WABC in New York.   "Sixty Years On", one of my all-time favorites, is a fantastic tune which takes the studio version 10 steps further in my opinion, though both versions have their own qualities. My opening sentence is only partially true.  I've actually loved Elton's music since day one, with the exception of parts

I'm sure we've all read a lot from both schools of thought, and as a wannabe I'm still trying to figure out which writing style I prefer.     Over the years and after poring over my "Starts and Fits" folder it seems I've favored the latter, preferring what I consider an offbeat taste in fiction to personal experience, knowledge or researched data.  Ultimately, I realize I've mixed the two in many of my stories, leaning on my upbringing, my youth, my memories and my life experiences.  From there I've either taken some liberties or gone off in unexpected directions.  Any thoughts?