A few years ago (when I still had a 9-5 job in the city) I used to spend my lunch hour (almost everyday) outside on the patio of a little French cafe called La Madeleine. I didn’t necessarily go there everyday for the food (although it’s mouth-watering.) What I went for was the atmosphere. At any given moment you could find a group of high school kids, men in suits, mothers scurrying around with strollers. Artists, hipsters, wealthy arm candy wives. It was eclectic to say the least, AND it was incredibly fascinating…in an eavesdropping sense of the word.
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So I’ve been trying for a while to come up with some brilliant way of introducing this book. At first I tried touching on the poetic-ness of its writing, but ten sentences in I realized this train of thought brought out the “rambling” side of me, so I shelved it. Then, I tried to find a quote. Something about good versus evil seemed appropriate, so off I went. And then subsequently failed. (You do not even want to know what pulls up when you Google THAT.) And then I had an epiphany (or something very close to it.) There was (I was almost sure
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The other day, while I was surrounded by hordes of rabid book fans, I was asked a question. A question that was rather elementary when it came right down to it, but still incredibly intriguing. One that (if I’m being honest) I’m surprised is being asked now; 3 years into my reviewing journey. It was: “What are you tired of?” My first thought (naturally) was laundry. I have no idea how my children manage to wear everything they own in a single week, but alas…they do, therefore I’m up to my elbows in dirty boy socks on a daily basis. Of
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When I was slightly younger than I am now (and by slightly I mean at least 20 years) I used to babysit for this little boy named George. Now George, he’s a rather plain individual. Only wears white socks. Goes to bed at exactly 9pm every night. Is an Eagle Scout. Obviously…this little antidote is not about him, instead it’s about his mother. Her name was Karen and she had this crazy way of looking at life. See, she was an artist. Ok, that’s not exactly accurate, she was technically a medical billing specialist, BUT when she got home, she would fire up this industrial sized kiln
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The other day I was walking through Target when I stumbled upon these two teenage girls having the epic of all throw-downs concerning vampires. One of them (naturally) had an affinity for the sparkly vegetarian types while the other (clearly being the smarter of the two) maintained her theory of “Blood is best, down with the rest!” (Her words, not mine. Swear to God.) Of course, being the incredibly nosey person that I am (and because they were standing in the book aisle and I could easily eavesdrop without their knowledge.) I just HAD to know what stemmed the WWE
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Sometimes there can be too much of a good thing. Coffee for example. It’s made of awesome, but if I drink more than 3 cups in an hour my behavior resembles more of a cocaine riddled chimpanzee than a human. Cheese… great on noodles, bad on ice-cream. My point? That sometimes writers should moderate rather than exasperate. This is something Ley Mesina, author of “Reborn” should pay very close attention to. “Lily Westbrook discovers that being half witch and half vampire is more of a challenge than she thought. When her powers mature on her eighteenth birthday, she unlocks a
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Well…in the interest of saving everyone time, (because this review is going to be a long one) I’ve decided to skip the witty banter and start this review with an epic sized SIGHHHHHHH. That’s right folks…I am sighing, which if you know me at all means I am swimming in a pool of disappointment. A pool, (mind you) that I insist you join me in, so for the love of all that is holy, keep reading. When Aurora meets Trey, a famous singer and musician, she’s only hoping to get her fill of human blood for the week. The
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I realized yesterday, (as I sat staring at a blank white screen for an hour,) that sometimes the right words are hard to find. For many of us, our words are confined to the simple (and sometimes idiotic) phrases that fly from our mouths each day, while others of us feel the need to put them on paper, (offer them up to a wider audience if you will,) and it is those words that are judged differently. While normal conversation is free flowing and spontaneous, words written for the specific means of having them read are planned, plotted, written, re-written
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When I first read the synopsis for Monique Martin’s “Out of Time” I was a little confused. It’s not all that uncommon to fuse genres but, time travel and vampires? I have read several time travel novels lately, and lord knows I’m a fan of the pointed tooth, but mushing these two together seemed a little far fetched to me. So… as per usual (or at least it seems so these days) I strapped on my “Negative Nancy” attitude and started to read. Dear Monique, I apologize for being a moron. Not only was this book NOTHING like I had
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Normally I would start off my review with a story, a flash from my past or dabble in the mysteries of my life hindering OCD, however this time I cannot. While I would like to tell you my life has been forever altered by this book, that once upon a time this did or did not happen to me, that because of this book I can sleep better at night, I would be lying, so instead I give you this. My thank you letter. Dear Blake, Joe, Jeff and Paul, I bow down to you. Not because of your literary
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