Gloves & Java.

I had a craving to write this morning.
I didn't wake up with it.
Because, really, the only thing I wake up craving is coffee.

I heard the mild rebuke in Ry's voice yesterday when I explained how my day was off-balance until I found that precious cuppa. Yeah, that's right, I said cuppa. Do you know what cuppa is? I don't officially know... but the author of the book I'm reading has used the word a few times, and I want to be like her. She's a really good writer.

But, see, that right there is an example of not a really good writer: to describe the creator of a delicious, haunting novel as "she's a really good writer."

She weaves a magical web...
Mysteriously, she orbits the edges of a tragic tale...
As pieces of an entangled puzzle are gently connected...

(All of that without a thesaurus, by the way).

So, this delightful novel has all of the things that I need in order to drink the author's KoolAid:

- The majority of it takes place in England (really, I could stop here, as you know if you've been reading me).

- There is a garden involved, and it's both wild and perfect. Perfect.

- Also there's an English cottage, shrouded in mystery but you know it was beautiful once-upon-a-time...

- The inside of the front and back covers have drawings that are carefree yet magical.

- England is a prominent setting.

- Actually, the other setting is Australia, and I love hot places.

- Instead of saying something like, "It didn't make sense to her", the author says something like, "The truth still fitted like someone else's glove..."

- There is also an English castle, an English ship... although I still like the English garden and the English cottage best.


So. Here I am, with my cuppa - which I can now assume means tea, given the quaint yet illustrious setting. But I have my Canadian cuppa, which led me to sit, which led me to write, which I hope will lead a few of you to read...
Not my words.
Kate Morton's The Forgotten Garden.