I'm reading The Writing Life, by Annie Dillard, borrowed from Gail. Annie Dillard is one of my favorite authors and I am really enjoying the book. Reading it only during meals, so far--meals alone, that is.
"When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner's pick, a woodcarver's gouge, a surgeon's probe. You wield it, and it digs a path you follow. Soon you find yourself deep in new territory. Is it a dead end, or have you located the real subject? You will know tomorrow or this time next year."
The language is lovely and the thoughts profound.
Oh, and by the way, I read all of World's End by Joan D. Vinge, my one penny book, yesterday, sitting on the couch with Keith while we were habving an ice storm. It never made it only my currently reading list.
Dunno if I should just buy the next one, too, it's so long until my birthday.
(scan of bookcover, obviously)