When I woke up this morning my body was trembling.
My fancy Concord Orthopaedics T-Shirt (which I got for FREE the day they sliced my knee) was dripping wet. Walked into the bathroom - my hands were shaking so hard I almost lost teeth when I tried to brush them. My gut was clenched, my eyes were bloodshot and watering.
Somehow I finished my morning ablutions and staggered into my upstairs retreat, opened up the laptop and ordered..................a James Lee Burke book, to be delivered to my tablet. Even though I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 to 15 books laying in wait, waiting to be read.
That, my friends, is addiction.
Went downstairs, brewed up a magnificent cup of coffee, sat down, fired up the tablet and began reading Burning Angel.
I was immediately calmed. I ascended into Reader Heaven. Peace was mine to have and to hold.
I think the only two authors who have had that effect on me are Lawrence Sanders and James Lee Burke. I know, this is familiar territory, but buckle up anyway - all my words are golden.
I have read 8 million books and sampled many authors. Hunter S. Thompson is a great love of mine. I have read all his books. But with him it's like sticking my finger in a light socket for fun - I need his insanity, I feed off his insanity. Because I am an insane man living a sane life. I need that fucking fix.
Same with Bukowski. I love his poetry and his books. Fucking love it. But again, it is the insanity that feeds me - the willingness to say anything and go anywhere, just like HST.
Stephen King. Loved him early, hate him now. He got too predictable. Read a lot of his books, they entertained me but did not bring me peace.
Then there are the literary dudes. John Cheever. Tremendous stuff. Got a big, fat book of his short stories, and a collection of his books. Tasty stuff. But not peace bringers.
O. Henry. Just read 100 of his short stories. Excellent. No peace. F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of my absolute favorites. Read almost all of his stuff. Delicious. No rest for the weary.
Lawrence Sanders, James Lee Burke. Somehow the writing of these two guys goes directly to my soul. Comfort food. They have brought me so much peace and enjoyment.
I settle into a recliner with their books in my hand and I feel contentment to a degree even a great writer like me cannot describe.
But the feeling...................shit, man, the feeling. For a man like me with a turbulent mind and a ragged soul, the peace they bring me, the calm, the enjoyment, keeps me alive. It fucking keeps me alive.
With James Lee Burke/Dave Robicheaux the setting of New Orleans contributes mightily to my enjoyment. Because I can see myself living there, instead of the plain vanilla state of NH. I would thrive there. And Burke makes you feel it, see it and taste it. That, and the people who live there - good and bad. You get to know them. You empathize, you hate.
I can't get into specifics with Sanders because it has been so long since I have read him. I should re-read all his stuff. It would extend my life an additional 5 years. Although I can get specific about the Archy McNally series. Hilarious and entertaining. Archy was as unlikely a crime solver as you can imagine. Loved those books.
And there was Edward X. Delaney, retired chief of detectives in NYC, featured in the Deadly Sin series. The man would make "wet" sandwiches, big sloppy sandwiches which he would eat standing over the kitchen sink.
Shit, man - just talking about Sanders' books is making me smile, with peace.
Great start to a great day, this morning. And Emmy Lou slept in my lap for two hours as I read. Does not get any better than that.
Please note: Downloading a book to my tablet for immediate gratification is a perfect example of the good use of technology. Staring at your phone like a cretin, is not.
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