Unfortunately, Yes

Sometimes, I wonder if anybody ever reads this but me. Not that it really matters much either way. I don't think I would write better or more often if thousands of people were hanging on my every word. Usually, what I wonder is if anybody that I know reads this. I found out The Girl and The Man both read it. They don't hang on my every word, but at least they get around to it.

They're both mad at me for reading at work. The Girl told me I'm grounded until I quit reading. The Man just ordered me to quit reading. I tried. Oh, how I tried. I decided to take breaks between bits of reading. I would read for 5 minutes and then not read for 5 minutes. It didn't work too well. I kept forgetting if it was time to read or not, so I would go ahead and read. It worked better for me Friday because we were pretty busy and I really didn't have time to read. That's saying a lot coming from me. I barely read 70 pages.

One problem was the book I was reading. It was about a woman who just happened to be one of 7 sisters who are all witches. Things like that are common in romance writing. That way you can make a really good setting and recycle it over and over for each person in the series. The problem with this one was it introduced all 7 sisters right at the beginning and I had to try to keep them all strait, plus I wasn't sure which one of them was supposed to be the main character for that particular book. Then when they started doing hokey things like make hot tea with their mind and then have cups of it fly out of the kitchen, followed by cookies. Well that was just ridiculous.

If I was going to write about a group of witches, I would write about normal witches. People with normal problems and talents using spells and rituals in a more realistic manner, with more realistic results. Making mistakes and having to search for ingredients, nothing exploding or levitating, having to get along with the 'new witch' or deal with family disapproval. Not saving the world from nameless evil, or carrying on a family tradition that stretches all the way back to some tiny Irish village or secret gypsy bloodline. I mean, I know it's fiction, but really, floating teacups?