By Roger Friedland & Harold Zellman.
I hate being too busy.
Really hate it.
And lately I feel that I have been too busy to write anything about the great books I am reading.
For instance, I just finished reading Ken Follett’s World Without End.
Loved it. Did I write about it? No.
Before that, Laura Kipnis’s The Female Thing: Dirt, Envy, Sex, Vulnerability.
Terrific book. Did I write about it?
How about McTeague, by Frank Norris? Did I like that book? Or A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon, or Run by Ann Patchett? Or A Jest of God by Margaret Laurence?
Did I hate all these books and this is why I am not writing about them?
I just feel pressed for time. Doing too many other things.
Now, I have started this biography about the architect Frank Lloyd Wright and I am LOVING it.
It is a great book. I am only on page 145 of 600.... but I already can tell that this will be one of the best biographies I've ever read. I've only read a quarter of the story and Lloyd Wright has already lived out the equivalent of four lifetimes!
It's a real pageturner.
If I do not write a bang-up review when I'm done this book, I am going to fill up Jack's food dishes, and then jump off my balcony rather than read another one!