I think I was thirteen when I started reading science fiction. It was summer. I was bored and the stuff my friends were reading was awful enough to gag a maggot. I found a book of short stories. I am a terribly slow reader and it took me several weeks to finish. There were many words that I didn’t understand, but we had a three volume dictionary. Daddy kept telling me to look it up so I probably actually learned something that summer. I read most of Asimov. I don’t remember if I read anyone in particular after that. I tried reading Dune twice. I couldn’t get into it. It was boring. And I don’t care for fantasy. Hobbits and fairies don’t do a think for me. Lois Bujold’s Miles books were great, but her new series isn’t. I like Anne MacCaffney’s Pern books and some of the others. They are a pleasant read, but predictable. Oh! I forgot Terry Pratchett. I think my son and husband have read all of his and I have read a few. But, like I said, I read slowly. I do, however, get a lot out of each book I read.
Murder mysteries are fun to read. I often figure things out. That’s probably comes from reading Nannie’s True Detective magazines. I am very observant. I notice things that most people don’t. I also find things. My husband can’t see the forest for the trees. I’m always telling him where to find his glasses, his wallet or the doohickey that fits into the what-zit. I tell you. It’s all those True Detective magazines.
Up a Creek in Lower Slower Delaware 