I read nooks, it's what I do. Actually I'm a writer but have long periods of writer's block when all I can do from the moment I wake up is read others' indie novels. At the moment there are six. Don't know how I got signed up for all six when my plate is obviously full, but I did.

First one, guy's kind of like me, makes great pop-art covers but the writing isn't pointed, doesn't have clear story lines. In this one he's falling into whiskey. He starts noticing flavors and taking tours in the distilleries and his wife apparently drives him around to go visit them, when you can always get a free sip or two as long as you can get there. Autobiographical! Buut it's good to know what a fellow author is sinking into.

Around here it quickly rises to over ninety and I don't feel like working on the garden, or the yard, or the garage, or even going anywhere though there are many things to do. Kids need rides, one our foster-son's girlfriend needs to get to work. Ninety-two? I stay in my chair, puppy on lap, air-con blasting, try to stay calm and breathe. Yes I'll do it. My life is patience of stopping at stop signs, waiting for teens to come for their ride, sitting in the sun either with car running or car not. time to read? Only a couple minutes at a time.

So that book, a little disjointed, moving from the author himself (I imagine) sipping whiskey to the downfall of a young local girl, but the next is unsettling too. It's about the downfall of an academic, an unraveling of a psychology professor who has psychological issues herself. A little too close to home> I think so, but I plowed right through it. It's my day, my life, retirement = ability to read.

Another ride, this one in the hot sun, it's ninety-two but sometimes I can use the newer car which, though it too has a horizontal front windshield, at least has the aircon to fight the greenhouse. Same Galesburg streets, same quiet downtown. My mind is on the previous book which I will now review. But here's what else.

A writer interviews a serial killer; he's killed his brother, his father, and a number of his lovers. Everyone thinks he's a monster. We soon learn that not only is he lovable but the writer is in love with him. Huh? No red flags here, are there? I laugh thinking about this one. You have feelings for someone, but he's murdered everyone who ever got close to him. Is there a word for that?

The "heat dome" intensifies and gets worse around here though the garden is liking it very much. I'm having fantastic luck with cucumbers and tomatoes and am living on cucumber sandwiches. But I'm still hot and it irritates me every time I go outside to find my eyes itching until I can get in the car and blast the a/c. I don't like that blasting, don't like the heat either...

In the fourth one almost every word describes the feelings of two people who, made for each other, somehow didn't get together five years ago when they had the chance. They are still. made for each other. If you totally wanted romantic nostalgia and perfect romance, you could read it over and over again. No steamy porn scenes but that's ok with me. The roomance pushes me though - how much is too much?

It turns out I'm reading translated versions in some cases, maybe in all cases. Why am I not translating my own? Curious, and wondering if English to Hindi is as good as Hindi to English. Sure is steamy around here.