Tuesday, November 4, 2014

My Terrible Addiction


You’ve caught me, I admit it, I am an addict, a one hundred percent, unable-to-stop addict. 

“Ah hah,” you cry, “I knew it. You’re hooked on something mind altering. What is this dreadful drug you can’t stop using?”

It's time to come clean. I have a never-ending thirst for, prepare yourself to be shocked, British mystery novels. There I’ve said it. Go ahead mock me for my plebeian literary tastes, I remain unbowed and unashamed, steadfast in my love of literary works by Agatha Christie, Dorothy Sayers, Ngaio Marsh (How do you pronounce her first name? If you know send me a line.) Colin Dexter, P.D. James, the Wexford novels of Ruth Rendell (her other’s are not to my liking at all), and so many more.

Before you attack me for my lack of taste, I dare you to read Colin Dexter’s Inspector Morse novels. They are loaded with wonderful literary references and biting humor and are as divine as any good glass of wine, not that my taste buds could ever be capable of deciphering the intricacies of a really good wine, I’m pretty hopeless along that venue. As long as it’s not sweet and a little dry, I like it. When people talk about the bouquet, my eyes roll back in my head and I sort of fade out because I am incapable of picking out any hint of this or that. To me it's good or it's not. 

The reason I am confessing my current lapse in my ongoing battle with bibliophilia is because I’m about to give a big, fat excuse for not writing a single word in the first two days of the NaNoWri Month that started Saturday. 

“I knew it,” you say, rubbing your hands in glee at my so early defection to the novel in a month activity. 

Give me a minute to explain. For some reason, both Saturday and Sunday, my mind was awash in confusion and as far from inspired as you can get so I did what I always do, turn to a cozy, oh-so-comfy British mystery. At least I didn’t pull out one of my old Agatha Christie’s for a re-read, something I am guilty of, and yes I realize how truly pitiful that makes me, but if I’m in need of a light easy read nothing’s better. 

This time, however, I read two previously undiscovered (by me) gems by John Bude called The Lake District Murder and The Cornish Coast Murder. Blame the University of Chicago Press for sending me their current list of books for sale. This catalogue devoted nearly two pages to classic British mysteries (yes a cruel thing to those of us fighting addiction), many of them authors unfamiliar to me so I had to order several, okay, maybe ten or fifteen. I couldn't help it. Anyway, this past weekend I read them instead of writing and despite feeling slightly hung-over from overindulging, I'm refreshed, invigorated and ready to write. I Hope. 

Help me stop. Please. 

5 comments:

Liz Fountain said...

Nothing like a great Brit-mystery! You can learn a lot from the terrific balance of gripping plot and interesting, quirky characters. Now get back to writing!

Julie Eberhart Painter said...

My husband looks at the Amazon bills and wishes I was addicted to clothes!

Put a lock on the bookcase and get to your computer. Dont look back!

Nikki said...

45Love Inspector Morse! Even the BBC TV series, partly because Oxford is so darned photogenic.

Oh, forget my little cozy mystery tonight. I'm gonna settle down with Colin Dexter.

Olga Godim said...

Have you read Carola Dunn's Daisy Dalrymple series. A nice cozy British murder in each one. You might like them. I adore them.

Big Mike said...

Never enjoyed one then we got netflix and couldn't get enough of them. Like Hart's War. So well done.

Michael Davis (Davisstories.com)
Author of the Year (2008 and 2009)
Award of Excellence (2012)