July, she will fly

four novels, one memoir... or, three novels, one memoir, one 'A Fiction'. Hm.

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I am writing this from inside a storm. It’s finally, finally, raining. Really raining. Thundering, too. For a treat. It’s early in the morning, when I’d usually be out with my dog, but she doesn’t do adverse weather so we’re here. For all the ways summer is shown to be a reading season, I do not always find it as helpful as the photos suggest. Warm weather makes me tired and squinting at small type in the bright sun will finish me off. I prefer to read when it makes sense to be indoors, and when the rain is dancing down to the big bass drum of a thunderstorm, it feels very harmonious indeed. Of course, I am not reading right now, because I’m writing to tell you about everything I read last month. Five books in the July that wouldn’t stop.