The Whacko in 12-C

I just got home from Tucson (where if you don't have a pool, you don't want to be living), so I'm a bit brain-dead. Whatever interesting thoughts may have been lurking in the far corners of my mind are lost in that travel-trap-time-warp air travel tends to bring on.

What do you read on an airplane?

Generally, I'm a hardback reader, with a few favorites in trade. But it seems like I'm always carting around hardbacks when I travel. Timing and planning are things I'm not the greatest at figuring out.

It's interesting to watch other people and try and spy on their reading choices. USA Today is a big one, and easy to spot. Local newspapers, especially if my flight is in the morning, are big too. I have to wonder about the traveler who actually reads the magazines stuck in the seat backs. I've never found anything in them that held my attention for long.

Books are harder to pinpoint, and as a writer I want to know what people—complete strangers—are reading. (Okay, I've always been a snoop, it's just easier to live with if I also tell you I'm a writer, and thus a student of human behavior. *grin*) My peripheral vision gets a workout, let me tell ya. Somehow, even though I wouldn't necessarily mind if someone asked me what I was reading, an airplane is a really small space and I hate to obviously stick my snoopy-self into the moment. So I fidget. And crane my neck. And exercise my eyeballs. All very mysterious. I'm sure no one has ever noticed the whacko in 12-C.

My trip back this time? I read a little bit of my book, but I had two chatterboxes in the seats next to me so mostly I just closed my eyes and zoned out. A woman across the aisle from me was reading a book, but try as I might . . .


Still reading Silent Thunder and liking it.

It's all better with friends.