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Dear Reader,
I'm very pleased and honored to welcome today's guest columnist, author John Lescroart to the book clubs. The Huffington Post said, "John Lescroart's writing skills are a national treasure." And I agree.
Mr. Lescroart is the author of twenty-four novels, fifteen of which have been New York Times Bestsellers. With sales of over ten million copies, his books have been translated into twenty-two languages in more than seventy-five countries,
John's new book, out this week is The Ophelia Cut. He will be touring for the next three weeks and won't be regularly checking emails, but you can find out more about him at his website: http://www.johnlescroart.com/
Thanks for stopping by the bookclubs, John...
Many thanks to Suzanne for asking me to be a part of her wonderful Dear Reader program.
Her guidelines suggest that we authors write about something interesting that we've done recently, rather than give our own two cents about how and why we write, topics we've pretty much seen our fill of. (See, there's a sentence right off that ends in a preposition, which is a bad thing to end a sentence with. . . with which to end a sentence. . . ? oh, never mind!)
Fortunately, it turns out that I've just concluded one of the most fascinating months of my life. And I almost didn't do it. In fact, at first I fought the idea of going on an African safari tooth and nail.
There was reason behind my intransigence: when I was 24, I was bumming around Europe and the next logical place to go was Africa. Fortunately, at the time, my best friend Al Giannini (still my main legal consultant) was in the Peace Corps in West Africa. So I boarded a boat in Marseilles and made the six-day journey to Dakar (much of it recounted in my novel, Sunburn). After a month in the bush with Al, we returned to the big city and before long I had caught a case of dysentery, which evolved into pneumonia. Then, because I was so sick, I forgot to take my malaria medication, and so I got the trifecta--e. coli, pneumonia, and malaria--all at once!
After losing, and this is not a typo, SIXTY POUNDS in twenty days, I finally got smuggled onto another boat to get me back to Europe where I might have a chance to recover. Because I couldn't walk under my own power, Al and his friends poured gin (or was it Scotch?) on my head and pretended I was drunk so that they would let me aboard.
Needless to say, my memories of the Dark Continent were dark indeed.
And then six months ago, one of my wife Lisa's best friends, Julie, said that she and her husband were giving their identical triplets a 25th birthday present of a safari in Tanzania. And did we want to go with them?
Lisa said, "Of course." I said, "Absolutely not."
But my bride was going whether I went or not. So, finally, I gave in.
It was an incredible trip! We flew from San Francisco and took a three-day layover in Amsterdam to visit my publishers there and get over jet-lag, then met up with Julie's family and boarded the KLM flight to the Kilimanjaro airport. Our guide Amey (pronounced Ah-mee) turned out to be fantastic--fluent in English and knowledgeable about seemingly every bird and animal we encountered. For eight days, the eight of us explored the great Tanzanian national parks-- Arusha, Tarangiri, Ngoronogo, and of course, Serengeti.
We saw dozens of lions (one only a foot from us through our mosquito netting!), hundreds of elephants and giraffes and warthogs and baboons (I loved the baboons!), thousands if not millions of zebras and wildebeests and flamingos, hippos, rhinos, jackals, hyenas, and more and more and more. We actually drove along within the immense herd of the wildebeests and zebras as they ran along in the Great Migration.
My favorite moment was my first glimpse of the Ngorongoro Crater, which gets my vote as the true Garden of Eden. Twenty-three miles across, surrounded by two thousand foot cliffs, it struck me as a much more beautiful and likely spot for human life to begin than the more commonly accepted Olduvia (really, Oldupai) gorge, which was only a few miles away.
What a tremendous experience, and to think I almost didn't go.
If anyone out there is interested in the trip of a lifetime, I highly recommend that you Google "Deeper Africa" and see where the road leads. Happy Safari!--John Lescroart
Thanks for reading with me. It's so good to read with friends.
Warmest regards,
Suzanne Beecher
[email protected]
AUTHORBUZZ: MURDER AS A FINE ART (Thriller) by David Morrell
Perhaps you know that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle based Sherlock Holmes on the mysteries of Edgar Allan Poe. But did you know that Poe was indebted to Thomas De Quincey? The notorious Opium-Eater of Victorian England, De Quincey anticipated Freud by fifty years and was an expert in murder. Murder as a Fine Art shows this first great detective investigating mass killings identical to ones that terrorized London forty-three years earlier.
Go to: http://authorbuzz.com/dearreader click on MURDER AS A FINE ART to find out more about the book and the author, David Morrell. Send him an email, he'd love to hear from you.
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