Yesterday afternoon I read the Prologue of Harlan Coben’s latest novel, Caught. Oh boy. I sure hope I can pull my nose out of it when the baby needs diapering or feeding. Did you know that Coben published this book only a year after publishing his previous novel, Long Lost? How does he do that? I have trouble stringing three sentences together. And I have the nerve to call myself a writer.
Oh. Okay, you caught me. I was reading some fiction when I should have been hard at work, finishing off a script for a new audio slide show. But I can’t help myself. I love crime fiction. I love thrillers. Good friends say that if a new story by George Pelecanos, Dennis Lehane, Laura Lippman or Harlan Coben comes out, they know that I’ll be unavailable. Yet they call me. One after another, they call, pretending they want to catch up with me when they’re really calling to bug the crap out of me. Ring, ring. I pick up. “Hi Mari, whatcha doin’?” “Leave me alone. I’m reading. Bye.” Five minutes later, someone else in the group of friends calls. “Hey Mari, whassup?” “Leave me alone. I’m reading a new Pelecanos /Coben/Lehane book.” Five minutes later, the sequence repeats itself. I’ve got good great friends. Do great friends do these things to one another? Of course they do. It’s their way of saying “I love you.”
Have a great holiday weekend.
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I’ve put him on my list of books/authors to read.
Paz