I'm reading an epic fantasy novel and I'm...enjoying it. Whoa. Too weird! I like single high fantasy novels (especially when they're stylish and slinky, like Ellen Kushner's books, or alternate-historical fun, like Paula Volsky's), but I've never been able to get into the big fat epic series novels....apart, of course, from Lord of the Rings, which I fell passionately in love with and memorized at approximately age 5. (It's the only book I've intentionally bought multiple copies of...sick, I know, but what the heck.)

But Patrick lent me the first book in George R.R. Martin's Song of Ice and Fire series last night, I picked it up this morning with great skepticism...and I'm now 60 pages into it. After having studied Renaissance and medieval history (and especially after spending time in York, which is still absolutely reeking of the Wars of the Roses), this book reads almost like a straight historical novel--but with all the really cool add-ons of a true fantasy.

So. I know George R. R. Martin already has thousands of readers, and it would be redundant for me to even try to convert more for him....but I'm having a lot of fun.

(And it makes me feel better too. Yesterday in Borders I had a moment of epiphany-slash-crisis when I realized how much I love kids' books, and how much more I tend to like them than the serious adult books I feel I should like. Maybe that's a good thing, since I do, after all, write kids' novels...but still, it doesn't quite feel like a grown-up thing to admit about oneself. Reading about vicious political intrigue is definitely more Adult. Really.)

Meanwhile, it's turned into a brilliantly cold, clear day outside. The road works continue, as always, in front of the house, but from the top floor window I can see the sheep munching grass peacefully in their field. Nika's walk should be freezing, but beautiful today.

And I'm listening to a CD of "Cosi fan tutte," my next thesis opera, as I write, so really...I'm almost working. Right?