These days I am preoccupied with my next medical appointments, worried about what will happen next, how much it will hurt, and how much it will cost. I can't sleep more than three hours at a stretch. I can't concentrate. I'm not getting anything done.
But I can escape. My life-long enthusiasm for crime fiction and horror movies remains intact. They have to be dark. Intense. Death, mutilation, and gore are good. No whining. I can fall into these stories completely.
Since I've read all of Ian Rankin and Lee Child I am now reading Charlie Huston and Ken Bruen. The rest of David Wellington. Tough guys. No pink, no women breathlessly explaining how they are deeper and better people.
For movies, I am totaly absorbed in Dario Argento's work. Deep Red, Suspira, Demons, Stendhal Syndrome. I ignore what little plot there is to get lost in the sounds and the visions.
I am careful not to judge others by their enthusiasm for genre fiction. I know smart, tough, funny women who watch Lifetime movies and read romances.
My tastes are different. Right now I am very grateful for my favorite books and movies.
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