Yeah, today’s letter is a bit of a cop-out, but this is the second time this has happened to me this year and it’s kind of amazing.
This past week I had the privilege of meeting author Leanna Renee Hieber at RT in Chicago. I always keep an eye out for good historical fantasy so you can imagine I was disappointed to learn that her Strangely Beautiful series—which sounds awesome—was hard to get hold of since it was published by Dorchester, and Dorchester’s status these days is anybody’s guess.
And then—and then—I come home, and in the midst of tidying the downstairs I find the two paperback books I picked up while killing time in a used bookstore the other day.
One of them was the first book in the Strangely Beautiful series.
Yep—I had magically, mysteriously, bought a used copy of this book on a whim, only to later find an even more compelling reason why I should want to read it.
And this is not the first time this has happened to me this year.
On Twitter, I caught the lovely Limecello talking about a wonderful ice-cream place. Their flavors sounded magical indeed, and I made a note to check out the cookbook next time I was in a bookstore.
Then I went downstairs in search of a lightbulb, opened a rarely-opened drawer in the kitchen, and there was the ice cream cookbook I had just been coveting.
We figure it must have been a wedding present, put away in the rush of post-wedding present-opening when my brain was mush from the stress.
I suppose one possible conclusion here is that my memory is failing as I cruise into my early thirties. But I prefer the idea that I am engaging in a very limited and mischievous form of time travel, planting books in my house before I’ve truly realized that I want them.