Thursday, February 17, 2011
My biggest critics.
My lovely hubby finished the second Stieg Larsson book in record time and was casting around for something to read.
"I know," he said, "what haven't I read of yours? And can I borrow your new ereader?"
He'd read an early version of SEA OF SUSPICION (mainly to figure out if he could recognize anyone from the Gatty Marine Lab) but he's never read STORM WARNING.
Figuring I have eight RITA books to judge and he should be done in that time I happily start up my Sony and show him how it works.
(I'm halfway through book six and I think he's on page 50.)
So, the first night I'm lying in bed and I get this huff.
"What?" I know he's reading my story.
"She just took her clothes off."
I grind my teeth. "She's wet and cold and doesn't want to get hypothermia. Plus she used to be a lifeguard in Australia." I give him a beady eye.
"Would you have taken your clothes off?"
"She's not me!" I scream (and yes, you can scream that).
Two days later.
Me: "She's wearing a sports bra and big knickers."
Him: "It doesn't say that."
Me: "Yes." I grind my teeth. "It does."
Good job I start off with low blood pressure.
So, night before last my 8-year-old son comes and cuddles up to me on the sofa at bedtime and says, "So, Mom, where do you get the titles for you books?"
I get excited as I try to explain. "Well, SEA OF SUSPICION--"
"That has a marine biologist in it, right?"
"So that makes sense."
I have birthed a genius.
"And STORM WARNING is set on the coast and there's this impending sense of danger," I tell him.
"So what's the problem then? In the story." He quirks a blond brow over eyes as dark as melted chocolate.
"Well, this woman keeps seeing her father's ghost--"
He snorts and jumps down off the sofa, dismissing me with a casual wave of a tiny hand. "Yeah, that'd be a problem all right."