I’ve just finished one library book (The Crossing Places by Elly Griffiths) and now I’m on to another, this one by Martha Grimes. As I plod on, writing the seventh chapter of my own book, passages like the following stop me in my tracks.
From The Lamorna Wink:
(Melrose Plant, one of the main characters, is staying at an inn in Cornwall, inhabited by an assortment of dogs – a yellow Lab, a German Shepherd, a sheepdog, and two huskies.)
Throughout these warm and pleasant ruminations before the fire, where licks of flame were turning the gray logs black, the Pfinn dogs had now come to join not Melrose but themselves, one by one to flop down on the hearth like big beanbags, snoring or whinnying in the grip of some dream. Why was it that dogs could fall asleep in five seconds? Mr. Pfinn could start a kennel. Another husky or two and there’d be enough of them to run the Iditarod. He enjoyed that image, picturing himself in a fur-line hooded parka, yelling “mush” as the dogsled knifed its way across some frozen tundra.
That woman can write. Have you ever halted your reading to just admire what someone has done with words?