Most Recent First Line

Finished a second fave. Has to be a good month when I've finished a Dick Francis and a Lawrence Sanders in the same months (see here and here). 

One thing I will say is that I love reading the reviews of Lawrence Sanders' books by modern readers who don't appreciate him. Too slow, boring, or not at all realistic . . . well, you have to appreciate the man to enjoy his books. 

Regardless, somehow I ran into John D. MacDonald, a prolific writer from the 1960's and already I'm very excited to get involved. Love the pacing, love the theme, love the characters. 

It was to have been a quiet evening at home. 

Home is the Busted Flush, 52-foot barge-type houseboat, Slip F-18, Bahia Mar, Lauderdale. 

Home is where the privacy is. Draw all the opaque curtains, button the hatches, and with the whispering drone of the air conditioning masking all the sounds of the outside world, you are no longer cheek to jowl with the random activities aboard the neighbor craft. You could be in a rocket beyond Venus, or under the icecap. 

Because it is a room aboard, I call it the lounge, and because that is one of the primary activities. 

I was sprawled on a deep curve of the corner couch, studying charts of the keys, trying to work up enough enthusiasm and energy to plan moving the Busted Flush to a new mooring for a while. She has a pair of Hercules diesels, 58 HP each, that will chug her along at a stately six knots. I didn’t want to move her. I like Lauderdale. But it had been so long I was wondering if I should. 

Chookie McCall was choreographing some fool thing. She had come over because I had the privacy and enough room. She had shoved the furniture out of the way, set up a couple of mirrors from the master stateroom, and set up her rackety little metronome. She wore a faded old rust-red leotard, mended with black thread in a couple of places. She had her black hair tied into a scarf.

MacDonald, John D. - The Deep Blue Good-by: A Travis McGee Novel