Woolly Thoughts

Today was my traditional Wednesday R&R day, thank goodness (I missed out last week because of hospital crap) so I really slept in, and really lazed about the house in my dressing gown well beyond the socially acceptable 11am deadline (I made that up - I'm not actually sure what time good etiquette deems is the cut-off point for schlepping around in one's PJs), did a spot of writing (new story, my first children's tale in a long while, a dark fantasy, I'm a few hundred words in and, even though I had a plan for this one going in, a sassy but kindly 1930's character opened her mouth and the story took an interesting turn to the left instead of the right, so I've now ditched an intended main character in favour of the sassy, formerly bit-part actress - she's earned herself a close up), went for a walk, then settled down to read one of the books I bought last week.

Yes, it was time to finally catch up with the rest of the world and read Wool by Hugh Howey, if only so I can have a valid opinion on the subject of this publishing phenomenon next time the topic comes up. And read it before the movie comes out so I can grumble about Hollywood's inadequate script. I haven't finished it yet, but here's my verdict so far:

Qs: Does it live up to the hype?  Are the friends who recommended it to me complete dithering idiots?

A (sort of): Well, as I was reading, I started out thinking Yeah, yeah, hmm, not bad, but I think I see where this is going... WHAT?

Then I moved on to Okay, this is interesting, I'd better read another chapter. And maybe  just one more. Oh, what the heck, I'll read the next one too. Surely one more teensy chapter won't derail my evening. One more for the road? Sure. And maybe just one last chapter before I get up and...

So, make of that what you will.