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As you know, last week was a majorly crummy one, mostly spent crying about having to put the dog down, or comforting crying kids about having to put the dog down. I struggled to meet my column deadline on Friday, because I just couldn't concentrate.

Well, on Thursday afternoon, I got an e-mail from the_webmeister asking if someone was going to be home between 3-5 on Friday afternoon because he was sending us a surprise. I replied in the affirmative, and then immediately started wondering when he'd sent.

Friday morning was crummy again, because daughter's blood sugar was through the roof (I HATE DIABETES) and it meant I couldn't get to the gym for a much needed workout. I texted The Webmeister telling him I needed a hug.

He texted me on Friday about 3:30 asking if the surprise had arrived yet. Nope.

At 5:30 I texted him saying that UPS still hadn't arrived. He wrote back saying he had "every confidence" that the parcel would arrive that evening, and that he'd let me know when he got the delivery confirmation.

At about 6:30 daughter and I were leaving through the garage to go see a movie. I'd told son to text me as soon as the parcel arrived. Across the street was a UPS truck. I was just saying to daughter, "Hmm, I wonder if they're going to deliver our parcel?" when a car pulled into our driveway. I'm half looking at the UPS truck and half thinking, "Who's that? We're not expecting anyone?" when all of a sudden I notice the make of the car and the Massachusetts plates and realize - it's HIM!! It's the Webmeister!

He'd come to deliver my much-needed hug in person. There are times when the ((((((((hug)))))) won't do, and he obviously realized that this one one of them, bless him.

Anyway, he and daughter and I went to see "27 Dresses", which I really enjoyed. Last night, he and I went to see "Atonement". I'd been half anticipating and half dreading seeing the film, because I'd loved the book so very much - I was utterly distraught when I read the last chapter and spent the next half hour crying my eyes out.

I'd grabbed a huge wadge of tissues before heading to the cinema, because I figured I was in for another sobfest, but I was curiously dry eyed. Curious because I normally cry at the drop of a hat, and also because I'd been so emotional at the end of the book. But although the film was beautifully done, and well acted (after seeing this and The Last King of Scotland, I now have a major thing for James McAvoy) I just didn't connect to the characters the way I did in the book.

More proof for my theory that with the possible exception of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, the book is ALWAYS better than the film.

While I definitely do not believe in limiting myself to positive reader responses (I don't believe I do traditional reviews here), I also am too gutless to intentionally bash another author's work, no matter how awful I find it to be. I'll talk about it, but I won't name names. Why talk about it at all? Good question. Partly to vent, of course, but partly because a writer needs to analyze really bad writing. Even though I agree with those of you who think that "bad" is a matter of perception, my own writing might improve as a result of my focusing on what I don't like in the writing of others.

Yesterday, I read about 50 pages of someone else's writing that I really didn't like.

I was interested in the book because it was a YA mystery, and back in March at YA Authors Cafe some people said they felt more mysteries were needed for YA readers. Well, first off, I found the writing very flat and bland. I hate to say that about an author's work because I don't know how to fix something like that. It's like trying to explain color to someone who only sees black and white.

But last night as I was continuing reading, I began to notice that additonally nearly every page contained a cliched situation, if not true cliches. You had your immigrant grandmother who provides obstacles to the female protagonist going into an unusual field of work. You had the parent who is missing under mysterious circumstances. You had the dad who brings his only child into his business. (Shades of Nancy Drew.) You had the taciturn sheriff. (He actually said, "What in the Sam Hill are you doing here?") You had the James Dean-type deputy who admires the protagonist's backside. You had a teenage girl who's into boys. You had someone throwing up at the sight of a dead body. (Though, I will admit, it was particularly revolting. One way I could tell was that everyone kept talking about how ripe it was.)

This book also contained cliched sexual stereotyping like I have not seen in decades. The sheriff wanted to finish up work because his wife had cinnamon rolls waiting. The main character was described by her father as being unlike other girls because she was twice as smart as most of them. Her female friend told her she was like a guy because she was "into science and all that boy stuff."

Soon after that I decided I couldn't even skim this thing and gave up.

This book is the beginning of a series being published by a major publisher. An editor presumably thought this was good writing. I can't help but wonder what manuscripts he or she turned down in order to get this one into the publishing pipeline.

How might my own writing improve as a result of my griping to you about this book? I'll tell you one thing--if I ever have a character bake cinnamon buns, she won't be keeping them waiting for when the little man comes back from work.

I was minding my own business, drinking a fourth cup of coffee and reading Boing Boing, when I ran into this short post about Latawnya, the Naughty Horse, Learns to Say "No" to Drugs, a 1990 picture book. ("Published" by Vantage Press.) Click on over to the post: there's a wonderful image of one of the inside pages.

Read the Amazon reviews, I dare you!

You can see a scan of the entire book here.

It always happens. Whenever I finish reading a good book, the next one I pick up is not. Good.

And that happened yesterday. I picked up a book that's been sitting in my TBR pile for months, opened it, and found...the dreaded journal format! With a very flat writing style and a twinkly grandmother. She made me long for the grandmother in Magic Lessons. Really, I should have given that book more credit for its grandmother. Man, she sure didn't twinkle.

Anyway, I only read a few pages of yesterday's book before saying, "I just can't do this."

I'm reading a book now that appears to include a dragon. After I started that one, I said to myself, "Gail, why don't you just accept that dragons are right up there with fairies as far as things you hate are concerned and ditch this book, too?" But the writing is decent in this book so I'm going to stick with it a while.