Reading, in my household, is a way of life. Books are everywhere. Stacked on shelves, stuffed in random boxes, perched precariously on the tops of lamps. Walking into my house is like walking into hermit’s habitat, with slightly more light. Though it irritates my husband from time to time (I’ve deduced this from his annual threats of “Don’t make me sell your books!”) I have found that my children don’t seem to mind. So I asked my son once, “Why doesn’t mommy’s books bug you? They are all over the place.” His answer: “It’s like a library in here.
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I had a friend ask me once if I believed in ghosts. See…he (my friend) is a cynic of epic proportion. If you can’t see it, touch it, or invite it over for brunch, it doesn’t exists. Religion, spirits, gut feelings (in his eyes) these are all random blabberings of uneducated minds. So when my answer to his question was a resounding yes, let’s just say his respect for my sanity plummeted a peg or two. (Or ten.) But of course me, being the stubborn mule-headed female that I am, insisted my beliefs deserved a voice. So I set out to
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I get called names on a fairly regular basis. I don’t know if you have noticed or not, but I spend an exorbitant amount of time criticizing people’s livelihoods. Because of this (the criticizing) I usually shake of the name calling and contribute it to a “knee-jerk reaction.” But a few years ago (I’m going to say like 4 – I’ve slept since then) I was corned by a coworker (shortly after Tweeting “made another one cry today…2 points for me!”) and was smacked with the mother of all insults. I was called VOID. That’s it. One word. POW!
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As a “professional” reviewer (and believe me when I say I use that word lightly) I spend hundreds of hours each month immersed in the written word. Most of the time…I read a book, shrug/eye-roll/smile/or shudder/ write down a few notes and move on. These books are not bad, just… forgettable. Other times, I’ll pick up a book and be impressed. It’s entertaining The characters are believable, and the plot is everything you expect from a quality crafted novel. But rarely do I pick up a book and realize, too little too late, that what I’m reading is not a book at all,
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There is this quote from “The Art of War” that says: “If you know the enemy and know yourself you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.” In most cases I would agree with Sun Tzu (who, if you were curious strikes an unfathomable resemblance to Shang Tsung from Mortal Kombat…in my head) it wasn’t until I read Rick Yancey’s “The 5th Wave” that I noticed a flaw in his theory… What happens when your enemy never shows its face? Or better yet… What if your enemy is from another planet? Until last month I had never
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I am a hardass. Or at least that’s what I like to tell myself. The truth is…I’m a Sap. (With a capital S.) I swoon over fluffy kittens, I lose all comprehension of the English language around babies, and though I tell my husband our DVR is full of ABC Family melodramas simply to torture him, the fact is, I just freaking love them. Let’s be honest for a second shall we? There is nothing more compelling than a gaggle of perfectly coifed uber rich socialites. The Princess. The Underdog. The Mean Girl (insert meow.) they are (in a sense)
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Quote This… “He had been willing to die because he refused to take a life. But me, I contemplated shooting everyone.” Loss is a natural part of life. We are taught to accept it at a very young age. Our family pet dies, one of our beloved grandparents passes away…ashes to ashes, dust to dust. But what our family/friends/ministers fail to tell us is what happens AFTER the loss. Not a week later when you are laying flowers on a grave, or a month later when you are cleaning out your Aunt June’s attic. No. What they conveniently forget to tell you is what
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Excerpt 1 They want what we have. The denizens of the Great Below care little for the humans of the Infinite Above except as providers, as resources, as dogs or toys or tools. They rape and kill and feed. They drink our pain, supping at it like we’re each an endless goblet of wine and blood. But we are not endless. We can be used up. And they don’t care, for they are predators and parasites to the last. This is why the intersection of our world and theirs is found most cleanly in the places where the
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So there is this quote by Harry Emerson Fosdick that says: “He who knows no hardship will know no hardihood. He who faces no calamity will need no courage. Mysterious though it is, the characteristics in human nature which we love best, grow in a soil with a strong mixture of troubles.” Now, I don’t know how many of you even know who Harry is (FYI – An American pastor from the early 1900′s who later went on to establish the AA movement as well as write a number of MG books for boys under the pen name Harry
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There is this website online, one I’m sure very few of you know about (or at least that’s my hope) called Experienceproject.com. To be blunt, it’s a public avenue for those who have suffered from (or are currently in the throes of) amnesia to share their stories with like-minded individuals. Now, I’m going to lay all of my cards on the table here and say that, until I read roughly 70 of these stories I thought amnesia was a big ol steaming pile of elephant poop. I mean..really? You can’t remember who you brother is? Hell…I’ve been trying to
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