OK, so I finished the Kellermans, had a palate cleanser of Household Gods, and then dipped into an anthology I've had around for years but never actually read, Sandman, The: Book of Dreams. I had it because a friend of mine, Lawrence Schimel, has a poem in it. Lawrence is the world's hardest working writer; if he doesn't have work in over 100 anthologies, I'd be surprised. He has done everything from poetry to children's lit to erotica.
Anyway, I am a huge Neil Gaimon fan, and I love my Sandman, but I never had the urge to read short stories set in the world. There is something about prose versions of comic books which usually disappoints me. (Probably starting with the costumes. I can take them in pictures, but actually reading about someone pulling on their green tights and tunic would make me giggle.)
The verdict? Damn good. Loved it. What's wrong with me anyway? It goes back on the shelf with the other keepers.
Then I missed my serial killers, so I reread Thomas Harris' Hannibal books. The Silence of the Lambs (Hannibal Lector), then through Hannibal Rising
Silence is still the best, but I like the time spent with Lector in Hannibal. Rising...well. It's The Godfather 3. I want it for closure.
I have no idea what to read next. There is nothing on my "new books" shelf, which always sucks.
Oh, speaking of new and old books, I joined Paperback Swap, this online service that facilitates getting rid of books you no longer want and getting books back from other people. Using a nice little matching system and a helping of trust and media mail, so far I have sent out several books from my "why have I kept this?" pile and will be adding more soon. If you join, mention me as a referrer. I don't know if it gets me any goodies, but it can't hurt.