Long day. Woke up at 3 AM to drive two hours to airport—was ten minutes away from home when I realized I had forgotten something vastly important. Like, my credit card. Turned around, went back, lost 30 minutes. Finally arrived at the airport and was the last one to get on the plane. Actually, the guy at the gate couldn’t have been nicer.
I read a book on the plane. I almost left it on my seat. Not because it was bad, because it wasn’t. It was a competently written thriller with a fascinating premise—but the author intruded too much on the story. Do you know what I mean by that? An author should be invisible within a story. You should not see the strings. A great book takes you beyond the storyteller.
Unfortunately, this particular author had an agenda. Generally speaking, that’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in this case the author took special pains to make his agenda known, over and over, until it felt extremely forced, and took me firmly out of the story. How annoying!
Here’s a look at the view from my window.
