Sleepless

I think I have a favorite author again. For a while I was in limbo - Anne McCaffery, my ancient and most revered favorite of old, had committed the Acorna books, and Mercedes Lackey, who replaced her for a time, had lost my interest with the Owl trilogy, and only just makes up for it with her rewritten fairytales.

So I haven't had a favorite, really, until last night.

I had managed to spend most of yesterday fighting off a headache. Ow. Much with the suckage. I cooked and I napped, and there may have been some tv in there, but the headache lingered.

Finally, nearly bedtime, and I was eyeing my shelves with intent. Most of the time, I can ignore a headache if I'm reading. Can't look at a computer screen to save my life, and if I move my head too much it's not pretty, but words on a page - oh yeah.

So I picked up 1632 by Eric Flint. Again. Book's only been in print for a year, and I think I'm already on my fourth or fifth read-through.

The thing that struck me about Flint is that he's got just about everything I'm looking for. First and foremost, he's got characters. An ensemble cast of interesting, unique, humorous characters. So there's love and romance, war and battles and adventure, and there's lots of people doing it all, so when the good guys win in the end, they really win. All of them.

That's the sort of thing that will keep me up until 2 when I'm usually an absolute wuss about getting my eight hours.

Of course, I'm pretty close to useless at work right now, and verging on incoherent, but those are the prices we pay.