Summer is two weeks old and I have:
slept well
been lazy
read three books
started an on-line class and written two papers
iced my knee (a lot)
cleaned so much lettuce and chard
cooked (a lot)
hiked once (see aforementioned knee icing)

The books:
I finished StarDust today, by Neil Gaiman. This follows The Minotaur Takes a Cigarette Break and The Children of Hurin. All three were entertaining. All three were love stories, of sorts, about mistakes and magic and heart. I've been toying with writing a love story for nearly a year now. Every time I have attempted a love story it turns sad and awful, for I write what I perceive as the realistic ending, not the Nicholas Sparks one (and yet, his books sell sell sell and my rejection letters pile- probably a coincidence). This means the couple doesn't end up happily-ever-after.

Until now.

I'm trying to write a "real" love story, one that embraces schmaltziness and ends with hope and laughter and embraces. To do this I decided I needed to read some love stories, but some well-written, quirky ones, that ended well and weren't about sex or something Oprah puts her label on.

StarDust did it for me. Gaiman is literary while living in fantasy/sci-fi and he never leaves out the wonderfully dry British wit. It's as if we crossed a bit of Tolkien, Twain, and someone else who's known for writing good romance. Gaiman tells an inventive, colorfully-decorated story about a boy in love with a girl he'll do anything for, and that very thing leads him into the graces of someone else. Susanna Clarke described the writing as "dancing and dazzles" and she's spot on.

I'm ready to try to finish the love story of Pickles and Gator now.