Since the summer season seems predestined to be a reading season–ergo all the Turner Classic Movies and Nick at Nite episodes showing people picking blackberries then leaning against tree trunks with Hardy Boy novels and purple stains around their lips. (Okay, maybe that’s just one movie.) I willingly walked into the stereotype. I must be “off” though. I can’t seem to get into a book to save my life. Maybe its in small part to the emotional distractions involving with getting a firstborn ready for university life, but I think it could be the novel writers. At the beginning of the summer I downloaded about twenty books to my Kindle. And traveling on vacation with a Kindle is wonderful and a major luggage improvement, But with the exception of the Linda Lael Miller trilogy “The McKettrick Men” or something like that, I couldn’t tell you there was one memorable story in the bunch. And I’m bummed about it. I wanted great page-turners, some vicarious emotional release courtesy of a great cliff-hangers. I’d taken several Amazon recommendations into consideration when buying these e-books and now I’m thinking the authors’ mothers must have written the recommendations because I put myself to sleep with some of those books. I’m not going to name names because if I get my books recommended on Amazon I don’t want irate mothers coming after me with bad press. Just go wisely into the sunset and I hope you have better e-reading than me.