Someone is going to have to convince me that it’s worth my time to finish reading Lisey’s Story, because there’s something about the tone of Stephen King’s writing in this one that annoys the heck out of me. Every time I pick the book up, I come close to putting it aside forever, but I always convince myself to go a few pages deeper. I read too slowly (and have too little time to read) to waste time on something that isn’t going to get better (and start making sense). Is it (and is it?)?

That voice of King’s. It’s self-referential, sometimes snarky, and way too much in love with its own made-up conceits. I know this is supposed to get you inside the character’s head, thinking along with her and remembering as real people remember, in bits and snatches. But there’s no smooth flow of language, and that makes it hard to appreciate the cleverness. I don’t mind a herky-jerky narrative, but it has to be going somewhere, and I have to be able to feel I’m along for a ride and not being pushed and pulled and poked and prodded for no good reason.

It sounds as if I’ve made up my mind, but I used to love Stephen King. Have I outgrown him, or is this book just that much different? I should probably reread the one that used to be my favorite, Salem’s Lot, to see if it’s as good as I remember it. If only I had the time.

The first spring training game of the baseball season was on the radio today. There was baseball on TV, too, but not the local team. Anyway, baseball is just as good on the radio as it is on TV, as long as you have the right announcers. Since the Giants have Jon Miller, there was never any doubt that I’d be listening. They won the game, but that hardly matters this early in the spring (and it isn’t even spring yet; we just call it that).

It’s just good to hear the sounds of bat and ball and crowd and beer vendors. And the stories. Always the stories, because that’s what binds all the seasons together. It’s the same game it was in 1927, when Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs, and even though that record has been surpassed, we still talk about it, because it’s baseball.

I got a letter from Hillary in today’s mail. She wants me to join her on her journey from the beginning. I’m not sure I can get past the fact that she won’t admit she made a mistake voting for the war. Some of us were against it before that vote was ever taken, and some Senators did vote against it. I can forgive the vote the other way, but not the feeling that it was ever the right thing to do. Yes, the war has been mishandled by the administration, but they lied to get us in it. They sent an honorable man, Colin Powell, to sell us their lies. Maybe you can fall for it in 2002, but if by 2007 you don’t see that it was a mistake, maybe I need to be in on someone else’s journey.

The rainbow was a shock, because it wasn’t raining on my end of town when it appeared. It started at the northeast corner of the far fields about 5:30 this afternoon, and while I watched it gradually reached out all the way across the eastern sky. Mom tells me it was pouring on her side of town at about that time, so I guess the rainbow is well earned. I’m glad I happened to glance out at just the right time to see it.