I’m in what I hope is my next to final re-read of my novel before I start submitting it. I’m attempting to just read, without editing, to get a feel for how the reader will receive it.

I loved to read, as a girl and a young adult. I still do, but I often wish I could read the same way I did back then. Once you’ve been a writer, editor, or proofreader (and I’ve been all of those), it becomes nearly impossible to just read, without editing or analyzing or noticing parts of speech. I can barely make it through almost anyone else’s writing anymore without wanting to stop and edit, or at least correct a typo here and there, or think about some aspect of it besides the story being told, the information or advice being relayed. Plot structure, characterization. Wondering why the author did that, or admiring a description rather than staying in the story.

It’s even worse with my own writing. No matter how many times I’ve been through it, no matter how good anyone else thinks it is, I find it impossible to just read what I’ve written. I’ve heard that near the end of his life Ernest Hemmingway could barely compose a single sentence, he’d become such a perfectionist about his writing. But, I wonder, how was he at reading? That’s the thing that kills me.

It’s a mad dance with myself, trying to read this book. But I hope that as I read through this draft, if I can distance myself enough from it, I’ll see it more the way other readers will. I also hope to come to a final decision about a title for this book. Finally I hope to see the big picture of the story, and notice any gaping flaws or errors in logic, rather than the little nit-picky things I’ll focus on the final time through.

Some of my best days are those on which the postman brings a bundle of mail held together by a fat rubberband that includes a package. The package usually contains a book. Sometimes yarn, but more often a book.

I’ve read a lot of books. I haven’t read as many as some people, and not as many as I wish. I plan to read a lot more before I die. I’ve never bothered to keep count, I just look around me at those still on my shelves, and I think about those I’ve given away or sold, those stored in the attic because we ran out of shelves, those that I’ve borrowed, and—most important—those that will be alive in my mind forever.

Whenever Banned Books Week rolls around, as it will next week (September 23 - 30), many of us look at a list of banned books and count up those we’ve read. But the single curious fact that stands out for me is how many banned novels or their authors have won Pulitzer Prizes.

If that’s the company banned books and their authors keep, then please ban my books.

Vote for your favorite challenged book here.

My cat Emily likes to use an old dart board as a scratching post, a habit that doesn’t concern us, since a previous owner had her declawed, so it doesn’t damage the dart board at all. If I were a stiff old dart board that had had its share of pointy things thrown at it through the years, I wouldn’t mind a little cat paw massage now and then either.

We don’t play darts much anymore. It’s just leaning there against something else because when we moved into this smaller house from a larger one we couldn’t think where else to keep it.

Today I watched Emily lean up against it and give it the once over with her toes, and I wondered why she likes it so much. Then I noticed the brand name at the top. “Pub Master” has a part of the “b” in “Pub” worn out so that it almost looks like a crippled “h” — or an “r”. Do you suppose she thinks it says Pur Master and translates that as Purr Master?

I’ve been missing in action online because of serious computer problems. A few days ago my main computer that I use to blog and surf (and email and research) decided it wouldn’t boot in anything but Safe Mode, and until that’s fixed, I may not blog or visit your blogs very much. I may not answer email very promptly either, for those of you who keep in touch with me that way.

It’s been an uphill battle, two steps forward, one step back. Hopefully my resident computer medicine man will soon complete his magical mumbo jumbo, drive out the evil computer spirit thingies, and I’ll be a force to be reckoned with on the Internet. Since I never was before, that’ll be a feat of magic for sure.

Fortunately this doesn’t effect my writing computer, which I keep disconnected and safely backed up.

But I miss you!

I also miss being able to do a quick search whenever my brain hiccups out a question. I’ve become so used to having the world at my fingertips, this is a little like losing the use of a limb—or a major appliance.

Readers and fellow bloggers, thank you for your patience and stay tuned.