Back to the Bone Pile

The rain has decided to hold off until later, so I might get some writing done, after all, thought not as much as usual. It's grey and ugly and soporific, and even though I haven't been up that long, I'm tempted to go back to bed. But that's not healthy. I need to be up and mentally active, contributing something to the world, whether it be an LJ post or fic or a bit of dry waffling on the book I'm currently reading.

After setting it aside for several months in protest of its rampant overwrought angsting, I've resumed Fatal Voyage, the fourth novel in the Temperance Brennan series. She's still behaving like an hysterical, shrill fool, but she's finally pulled herself out of the pity wallow that was threatening to bottom out in Shanghai and engaged the critical mind of which she so often boasts, and the mystery has lurched into motion after bogging down in the sucking mire of "Oh, NOES, someone(else) has it in for plucky, awesome Brennan!", so it might redeem itself yet. Boyd the Chow is still my favorite character, though, and I give not one whit for the brewing Brennan/Peter/Andrew Ryan love triangle.

I am interested in the Jean Bertrand mystery, however. Very interested, and I hope it isn't dropped, never to surface again.