I just finished reading the new Denise Mina book, Deception. Wow, that was bleak, huh? I liked it, but finished it thinking, ouch. Now I'm reading Frances Fyfield, a name I've been seeing on bookstore shelves for years. I'm quite liking her, though she's got some stylistic idiosyncracies, which include occasional oddities of punctuation. This was exacerbated in the last book of hers I read, Blind Date, which--and I'm not even kidding--was apparently sabotaged by a disgruntled editor with a degenerating brain tumor. That's the only thing that could explain so many typographical and grammatical bizarrities. I hope. Still quite readable.
I'm more upbeat today, still tired, and quite quite bored.