![]() ![]() By the time I was in high school, I had pretty much read all of the John Grisham novels published thus far, as well as the Kinsey Millhone series and most of Dick Francis’s stuff. ![]() Mom has pretty much the entire Sidney Sheldon… collection, for lack of a better phrase? He didn’t really write series – his books are like, stand-alone soap opera-esque epics that cover a woman’s life and the crazy antics she and her lovers get into, and also sometimes murder. So instead of the library, I went to my mom’s house and borrowed a couple of her Sidney Sheldon books. Fool me once, shame on you, and all that. But I also wanted a known quantity – I really didn’t feel like taking a chance on an author I’d never read before. But when I was ready to read something again, I was still in the mood for schmaltz. After Up Close And Dangerous left such a ragey flavor in my mouth, I didn’t read anything for like, a week. ![]()
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