Actually right before getting to The Attic, I had spent an hour laughing and talking smart with my knitting pals, so I was pretty full of myself. You know what a mood elevator laughter is. WLT just caught my eye, the flyleaf lured me to read page 1, and the voice on the page sold me. So you've read it already? I just finished what I was reading and will start WLT tonight. I'm hoping the promise of the first little scene holds.
The trio of pale lavender shells pointed like toy tops sat on the silver wood of the crate piece that had washed on shore. Manning watched the three little mollusks bump together and jockey into position, the regular nubs of their shells sliding together to make a faint rasping sound. He laughed under his breath seeing the largest of the three, which was no bigger than a quarter, shove the others away from his chose spot, even though Manning could see no difference from one place to the other. He was sure the bully snail was a male. He believed in the superiority, the supremacy of males, the primordial imperative of the creature that made sperm. Manning had yet to meet Mona. His tune was about to change.
How's that for tossing a psychological grenade into the mix? I sure wish I knew where this stuff comes from. And I sure wish I knew of an apartment for you at a reasonable rent. What a pain. Good luck.
--Barbara
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