Even though I know that Valentine's is a holiday created by the candy company, doesn't make it any less of one of my favorite holidays. One because it's about spreading LOVE and two because there's chocolate and I love chocolate. With those two things in mind the first thing I want to celebrate is love by telling some of the things I love (but I'm going to leave the mushy out, but know that I love my friends and family). I'm going to put it in list form because I also know one of my fellow bloggers love lists. See how I'm spreading the love. So here goes in no certain order...
1. Books. Best thing ever created. They allow me to escape, allow me to become an FBI agent or an alien and on and on.
2. Chocolate. Nothing is better than a piece of dark chocolate after a long day.
3. Heinz Dill pickles. Need I say more? No.
4. Movies. There is nothing better than seeing Leonardo Dicaprio or Chris Hemsworth larger than life. Mmmmmm :) Now, if they would just make a movie featuring David Gandy my life would be complete.
5. Fleece sheets. They are, well, indescribable all I can say is get a pair for yourself and you'll understand.
6. Bubble baths. Best time to relax, read and eat pickles.
7. Pen and paper. I could spend hours down the office supply aisle of any store. Nothing better writing that first word with the best pen.
8. Michael's (the craft store) I could literally spend an entire day inside one, just ask my hubby.
9. Barnes & Noble, again I could spend an entire day there. My goodness all those amazing books calling my name.
10. AMAZON. I love that I can find everything on there I can on Ebay only I can just buy it instead of having to bid. Thanks to Amazon my Dorrie collection is almost complete.
11. Lastly, Dorrie. She was a little witch that featured in my favorite series of books when I was kid. Those books are what started/inspired my love of reading, my desire to write and my appreciation for art. Patricia Coombs, THANK YOU.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Wild Kingdom Fashion 2014
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. We hear this
all the time. The fashion industry is no different.
What hangs on the rack at every store is a copy of a copy of a copy of a copy. The interwebs are full of advice to us: "copy this!" "you are not cool this season unless you're wearing what I'm wearing!" "be like me!" God bless the trendsetters, right? Or we would all go to the mall in last year's jeans. So as I say good-bye to 2014, I say thank you also, to this year’s style
leaders…the trendsetters.
The Italians? No. The Kardashians? Er...No.
Fashionista 2014 Grand Supreme Prize – Adult Female Flemish Giant

Honorable Mention – Brahman Cow

Fashionista 2014 Grand Prize – Gorilla
The full-figured gorilla inspired the year’s second most
prolific style trend, the stretchy or yoga pant. These pants can be spotted on nearly
every female from thin to fat, short to tall, and have the added benefit of
looking exactly the same on EVERYONE. Universally unflattering on humans, these pants could be improved by covering them with something. At least some hair. Almost never seen inside a yoga studio.
Even when these proud and amazing equines are bone thin, they have hefty and powerful butts. One advantage the Brabant has over the thin human is that their butts do not, as a rule, devour their pants. If I ever believe that I'm thin enough to get away with wearing these, I should think again.
Fashionista 2014 Congeniality Prize – Tamarin Monkey

Honorable Mention – Golden Snub-Nose Monkey
These somewhat rare monkeys have a knack for staying out of view. Yet the humans they inspire are everywhere, freaking us out and accepting food right from our hands! It just goes to show that introverts can be trendsetters too.

Friday, November 21, 2014
Thankful (adjective): Glad that something has happened or not happened, that something or someone exists, etc.; Expressing thanks
Since it's that time of the year I feel an obligation to post some kind of 'Thanksgiving" sentiment on the blog. Here it goes:
Of course, I'm thankful for my immediate family, my friends, my blog mates, shelter, food, yada yada, but let's go with the every day thankfulness...
--I'm thankful that no one is scheduled to come into my apartment in the next coming weeks so they can't see the piles of fabric, scraps, magazines, etc, that I have all over the floor trying to get things ready for the upcoming holidays. Correction...frantically trying to complete sewing projects in order to get them in the mail before the upcoming holidays. I'm not in the mood to clean up for guests.
--I'm thankful that I've made my last car payment three weeks ago and nothing tragic has happened to the car, now that is mine.. so far. Usually something tragic happens when I have free and clear money burning a hole in my purse. (Knock on wood!)
--I'm thankful for coffee and any caffeine products. 'Nuff said.
--I'm thankful that I have not had to shovel snow in twenty years. I see snow storms on the news and get the shivers because I know how that feels. With the northern California weather, all I have to say is "Suckers!"...until the next earthquake comes and rock our world.
--I'm thankful that I live alone now and never have to worry about whether the toilet seat is up or down. When you start aging, it's the little things...
--I'm thankful that I have a part-time job to go to 40 hours per pay period because if it wasn't for that I'll probably be in my jimmy-jammies 24/7 and only leave the house to buy groceries. Since all my hobbies are passive ...writing, reading, quilting, needlepointing...there would be no need to even shower most days. Talk about a stink-a-roo...
--I'm thankful that I woke up this morning, and every morning after this blog post (cross fingers).
--I'm thankful for Amazon. Now this may be an unusual thing to put on a blog but because of Amazon I'm able to get books, and other products that I can no longer find, to my house within a few days. Without Amazon, I would have never been able to publish my own books. I would have never met my beta readers through the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I would never have made improvements on my stories due of the betas' suggestions. I would never have been able to say, "I'm a published author. You can buy my work."
If I die in my paid-off car tomorrow because there was a freak snow storm in my city and I wrecked my car because I didn't have a morning cup of coffee as I was dressed and showered, driving to my part-time job, I could still say on my death bed..."I'm a published author."
We have so many things to be grateful for in our lives, but if you can accomplished just one thing in your under-lying dreams, the smile on your face every day shows people what a thankful person you are.
Happy Thanksgiving, Readers!
Sylvia
Of course, I'm thankful for my immediate family, my friends, my blog mates, shelter, food, yada yada, but let's go with the every day thankfulness...
--I'm thankful that no one is scheduled to come into my apartment in the next coming weeks so they can't see the piles of fabric, scraps, magazines, etc, that I have all over the floor trying to get things ready for the upcoming holidays. Correction...frantically trying to complete sewing projects in order to get them in the mail before the upcoming holidays. I'm not in the mood to clean up for guests.
--I'm thankful that I've made my last car payment three weeks ago and nothing tragic has happened to the car, now that is mine.. so far. Usually something tragic happens when I have free and clear money burning a hole in my purse. (Knock on wood!)
--I'm thankful for coffee and any caffeine products. 'Nuff said.
--I'm thankful that I have not had to shovel snow in twenty years. I see snow storms on the news and get the shivers because I know how that feels. With the northern California weather, all I have to say is "Suckers!"...until the next earthquake comes and rock our world.
--I'm thankful that I live alone now and never have to worry about whether the toilet seat is up or down. When you start aging, it's the little things...
--I'm thankful that I have a part-time job to go to 40 hours per pay period because if it wasn't for that I'll probably be in my jimmy-jammies 24/7 and only leave the house to buy groceries. Since all my hobbies are passive ...writing, reading, quilting, needlepointing...there would be no need to even shower most days. Talk about a stink-a-roo...
--I'm thankful that I woke up this morning, and every morning after this blog post (cross fingers).
--I'm thankful for Amazon. Now this may be an unusual thing to put on a blog but because of Amazon I'm able to get books, and other products that I can no longer find, to my house within a few days. Without Amazon, I would have never been able to publish my own books. I would have never met my beta readers through the Amazon Breakthrough Novel Award contest. I would never have made improvements on my stories due of the betas' suggestions. I would never have been able to say, "I'm a published author. You can buy my work."
If I die in my paid-off car tomorrow because there was a freak snow storm in my city and I wrecked my car because I didn't have a morning cup of coffee as I was dressed and showered, driving to my part-time job, I could still say on my death bed..."I'm a published author."
We have so many things to be grateful for in our lives, but if you can accomplished just one thing in your under-lying dreams, the smile on your face every day shows people what a thankful person you are.
Happy Thanksgiving, Readers!
Sylvia
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
An Abundance of Monikers
Gamergate is such a cutesy name that even
the people confronting the issue head-on have a hard time not trivializing it. The moniker was a huge roadblock in my
attempts to write a serious blog on the topic. I'm beginning to think we need to stop assigning these ridiculous labels to everything. But in the world of Google keywords and Twitter character limitations, not to mention hashtags (don't get me started on hashtags), fat chance of that. Fat, fat chance. Like Biggest Loser Fat Chance.
Anyway, when I was done with my unpublished GamerGate blog, I realized I’d
basically advised all women to steer clear of the gaming industry because they’re
better than that. Smarter, too. Who wants to make a ton of money playing silly games when they
can toil away in legitimate businesses for half the pay? I mean actually
getting paid well to propagate one’s passion would put us on par with, say,
professional athletes. Before long, we’d be experiencing head trauma and
committing crimes including but not limited to abusing our significant others.
Okay, so we’d be millionaires, but is it worth the grief? It is not. That’s
what I told women in my blog. Far better to stay on the sidelines and wait for the male
riffraff to self-destruct. Eventually certain frontal brain areas will shrink
away to nothing—and we’ll be there, brains intact, to take over the universe.
Muhaahahaha. See, that’s my evil plot to take over the world. Wait till
everyone else dies off. Cool, huh?
![]() |
Am I the only one who sees the resemblance? |

I stopped typing then, and made an
earnest attempt to envision the subculture that might be behind GamerGate. (Pretty nice of me, seeing male gamers very rarely return the favor, according to this interview on Tropes vs. Women in Video Games.) This
time my mind supplied the crooks from Point
Break, the movie where Patrick Swayze spearheads a criminal band of surfers.
I don’t know if
it’s because they wear the masks of ex-presidents while robbing banks, the Nixon mask cementing the Watergate connection—at least the -gate part—or because the movie was directed by one of my film-making idols: Kathryn Bigelow, who happens to be a woman as well as a Kathryn (although I'm pretty sure she is not one of the Katherines in that John Green novel). Maybe it's because they were surfers, widely recognized as the notorious wave-riding slacker brothers to gamers. (Aw, fuck! I'm thinking skateboarders. Skateboarders are the land-dwelling parallels to surfers. And I had such high hopes for that allegory!) All I know is that the bad-guy group that Keanu Reeves infiltrates came up when I started scouring the ol' neuro-pathways in search of visuals for the cryptic GamerGate crowd.
it’s because they wear the masks of ex-presidents while robbing banks, the Nixon mask cementing the Watergate connection—at least the -gate part—or because the movie was directed by one of my film-making idols: Kathryn Bigelow, who happens to be a woman as well as a Kathryn (although I'm pretty sure she is not one of the Katherines in that John Green novel). Maybe it's because they were surfers, widely recognized as the notorious wave-riding slacker brothers to gamers. (Aw, fuck! I'm thinking skateboarders. Skateboarders are the land-dwelling parallels to surfers. And I had such high hopes for that allegory!) All I know is that the bad-guy group that Keanu Reeves infiltrates came up when I started scouring the ol' neuro-pathways in search of visuals for the cryptic GamerGate crowd.
My subsequent lapse in typing gave me opportunity to reread my previous document—and thank God I did before I posted
it. Through a furious blush, I sent the thing straight to virtual Timbuktu.
WTF, Jen? I admonished myself. You can’t pigeonhole men like that. You certainly
can’t tell the female youth of society NOT to game (Seriously, is that a verb?)
if that’s what they live for. After all the time you’ve spent in advertising,
you should know that gaming with the CDs and ACDs is the surest road to a quick
promotion. It fills a need.
I have a film background (which is why I’m
always going off on movie tangents). When I was in school I had a prof whom I
considered the personification of Evil. He was my Snape, in other words. But,
here’s the thing, deep down—in my collegiate naivete—I figured he had to have some core of goodness, seeing that he had
likewise chosen to study film. Had in fact devoted his life to it. Somewhere,
locked within that stony heart of his, was a love of movies, enough of one to keep said stony heart beating.
I’m not a gamer, but I imagine what draws
people to that particular pastime (or *shudder* career) is a deep belief that good must conquer evil. Gamers like to see this perpetuated over and over again (which they do instead of
getting honest work), right along with the stereotypes of women as slutpaper (slutty wallpaper, always in the background. How do you like them apples, all you professional moniker-makers?) Subject to mens' whims of either rescue or abuse.
So, I appeal now to the gamers of the world, including the gang from the Patrick Swayze/Keanu Reeves surfer movie that if you dare to diss it, I’ll come after you with this little game controller I like to call a taser (Repeat after me: The movie is a classic and Kathryn Bigelow is a pioneer. *runs off to picket the opening of the remake*). Let’s all delve beneath our surfaces, straight into our nougat-ty centers, and remember why we love video games in the first place. They give us the chance to be heroes. Simple as that. United by that revelation, let’s not waste...er, finger muscles making nasty, anonymous threats to people. Let’s not tie up the resources of law enforcement (if you want to support real heroes, btw--not that you aren't real heroes in the darkness of your basement, I never meant to imply anything like that--you could always donate to your local police fund). Let's refrain from doxxing enemies (sounds way cooler than it is) and calling in false crimes. In short, let’s end GamerGate for good. Or for the love of all that is holy, give it a less cheesy name.
So, I appeal now to the gamers of the world, including the gang from the Patrick Swayze/Keanu Reeves surfer movie that if you dare to diss it, I’ll come after you with this little game controller I like to call a taser (Repeat after me: The movie is a classic and Kathryn Bigelow is a pioneer. *runs off to picket the opening of the remake*). Let’s all delve beneath our surfaces, straight into our nougat-ty centers, and remember why we love video games in the first place. They give us the chance to be heroes. Simple as that. United by that revelation, let’s not waste...er, finger muscles making nasty, anonymous threats to people. Let’s not tie up the resources of law enforcement (if you want to support real heroes, btw--not that you aren't real heroes in the darkness of your basement, I never meant to imply anything like that--you could always donate to your local police fund). Let's refrain from doxxing enemies (sounds way cooler than it is) and calling in false crimes. In short, let’s end GamerGate for good. Or for the love of all that is holy, give it a less cheesy name.
And for young women: Follow your hearts,
work where you choose, make better video games. Just remember, when all is said
and done, the ultimate object of the game—male or female, hobbit or wizard,
weird video game icon or other weird video game icon—is: Save Yourself.
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Erma Bombeck: Subversive Feminist
Nope, I’m not kidding.
Granted, hers isn’t the first name to jump to mind when you think of great feminist writers of the 60’s and 70’s. But for every one woman who plowed through The Feminine Mystique, hundreds LOL’d their way through her At Wit’s End columns.
In case you don't know her, Erma Bombeck was a humor writer. She spent several years as a stay-at-home mother before beginning a small weekly humor column about housewifery. Her editor had his doubts about whether such a column would find an audience, but within a short time it was syndicated to over 900 newspapers. Erma became so successful, her husband quit his job to manage her career. In total, she wrote 15 books, most of which became bestsellers. If her humor feels a bit tired today, it’s only because subsequent humorists, including today’s crop of mommy bloggers, still work with updates of tropes Erma popularized.
But she wrote about being a housewife and mom. What's feminist about that?
1. Well, she said this: “Sharing
responsibility is what the entire movement to free women is all about. If woman
are ever to be appreciated, a husband should drive a car pool . . . just once.”
2. She told the
truth about cleaning. Advertisements and zen philosophy be damned, housework
isn’t fulfilling work. It’s monotonous and boring and it's time away from more meaningful pursuits. “Housework,”
Bombeck said, “is a treadmill from futility to oblivion with stop offs at
tedium and counter productivity.”
She made it okay for women jump off that
treadmill. Unfortunately, there’s
been a pushback on this. With entire TV channels devoted to home improvement, it’s no longer enough to just keep your house within acceptable sanitation standards; it should be show home worthy.
3. She wrote honestly and humorously about aging
as a female. The big kerfuffle about Renee Zellweger reveals how brutally women
are still judged just for daring to have birthdays past 35.
4. And she wrote about just how hard it was
(and is) for women to balance work and home life:
“Then one day in a leading magazine, I saw a story called, 'Today’s Woman on the Go.'”
At the top of the article was a picture of a well-stacked
blonde at a construction site with a group of men around her while she read
blueprints to them. I noted her shoes were coordinated with her Gucci yellow
hard hat.
The second picture showed her in a pair of flowing pajamas
standing over the stove stirring her filet-mignon helper (recipe on page 36)
while her husband tossed the salad and her children lovingly set the table.
It made me want to spit up….
You have only to work once in your life to know that “Today’s
Woman on the Go” is pure fiction. Maybe they got the captions under the
pictures switched. Maybe she wore the long flowing pajamas at work and the hard
hat at home. Heaven knows, home is a Hard Hat area.
Where were the pictures showing her racing around the kitchen
in a pair of bedroom slippers, trying to quick-thaw a chop under each armpit….”
5. And she said this: “When I stand before God
at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of
talent left and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.’” Not I had a
floor you could lick. Not I ironed my children’s jeans every day. But I used my talents.
She helped a generation of mothers and housewives to know their personal dreams were legitimate and worth pursuing. That it was okay to want more than a husband and children and white picket fence.
She helped a generation of mothers and housewives to know their personal dreams were legitimate and worth pursuing. That it was okay to want more than a husband and children and white picket fence.
Okay, okay, Erma was a feminist. But
subversive? Really? Isn’t that a little… strong? We're talking housewife humor, here, not George Carlin.
Erma Bombeck let it all hang out, telling
readers about her messy house, flawed children, body issues, imperfect
marriage, and work/family balance struggles. She made readers laugh at her
failures to meet societal expectations, using humor to reveal just how ridiculous
the expectations were in the first place. “If you can’t change it, laugh at
it,” Erma said.
I'm willing to bet Sarah Silverman would agree: That’s a darned subversive idea.
I'm willing to bet Sarah Silverman would agree: That’s a darned subversive idea.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Dried Up Psycho Mommies
It begins
when their children are infants, this period when women who were once perfectly
(I mean, borderline) normal become candidates for Psycho-Mommy Hall of Fame.
Maybe it comes from inhaling bleach (I mean, nail polish). During this
transformative period, a writer (I mean, fellow Mommy) can capitalize on the
opportunity to observe these Psycho-Mommy creatures in their natural habit. For
every encounter with any kind of crazy is story fodder. And it doesn’t matter
if that story is a novel, a post or a tweet.
Recently I
attended an orientation night for my high school freshman. It was one of those near-pointless
wastes of my fugging time but still I wouldn’t have minded it—except for one
thing: the other parents. Educators can be annoying enough with their million
dollar egos riding on fifty-cent ambition. And by no means do I include all
parents: many are that perfectly normal I mentioned above. And I mean that
literally: perfect and normal. Those are the parents who follow their student’s
schedule when the bell rings by reading the hall signs and studying the maps.
Maybe they even asked their student ahead of time (the school takes up an
entire city block, after all, so finding a classroom can be more like a
pilgrimage). They enter the classroom and quietly take a seat, acknowledging
other parents they know. They listen politely to the 10-minute rehearsed speech.
At the bell, they efficiently move to the next classroom.
Those are the parents to emulate, but not to
write about. A good writer has to pick crazy. They don’t have to be bat-shit
crazy either. If I see a parent with needle tracks, I keep looking. That’s too
easy. I look for the ones who don’t actually know they’re Psycho-Mommies
(or Daddies, but they’re more difficult to track). The Psycho-Mommy of a high
school freshman who, after 14 years, still doesn’t realize how fuggin psycho
they are…
The Vainglorious – This is the mommy who hung back
(blocking the aisle) to loudly announce to the teacher, “Hi, I’m so-vain, so-gonna-be-embarrassed-tomorrow’s mother.” Now just to put some
perspective on this… There are 1,344 students in this high school. There are
roughly 25 students in the class just during that hour and 7 hours in a day. We
all had exactly 3 minutes to get to the next classroom. I’m probably not the
only one in the room who thought, “Who the fug cares who you are? Get your fat
ass out of the aisle.” The look on the teacher’s face neared confusion. It
clearly said, “I have no idea who so-gonna-be-embarrassed-tomorrow
is.” She smiled and shook Ms. So-vain’s
hand anyway. Hey, Ms. So-vain! You’re
oversizing your own importance just a tad. And I know your daughter. She’s a
slut with unlimited disposable income. She’s the one who beams when the orchestra
conductor praises a performance. She’s the one who believes he’s talking only
to her, not the other 74 musicians. Then she laughs too loudly. She’s the one
who the conductor was talking about during parent-teacher conferences last year
when he said he gets annoyed by a few brown-nosers in the group. But you go
right on a-thinking that the whole fuggin world revolves around you and your
precious daughter. Maybe it does.
The Scourge of Stupid Questions – This scourge is really more like a
plague here in suburbia. Again, maybe it’s the bleach (okay, nail polish).
Maybe it’s that you Psycho-Mommy only went to college to get your Mrs. Degree
and no longer uses that thing that’s 3 feet above your ass. Just stop with the
fuggin dumb questions already. Read the fuggin paper that’s on the desk in
front of you, or the sentence written on the board up front or use the common
sense God gave you for shit’s sake. How come your husband isn’t asking if the
cafeteria pasta is whole wheat? Because it’s a stupid fuggin question, that’s
why.
The Viper – I actually love these Psycho-Mommies.
Not because they’re cool, or funny (at least they don’t mean to be funny). I sat
in one classroom where a frosted-tips, plunging-neckline,
dried-up-piece-of-toast Mommy was being oh-so-friendly to Ms. So-clueless. Two rooms later? Dried-up
Mommy was dissing not only so-clueless to
another dip-dyed Mommy, but dissing the daughter as well. See, I love her
because she makes everyone else look good. Despite the fact that she just spent
an hour on her hair to come to a lame school event and looks around the room
with imagined superiority. She’s looking for something to gossip about at
gymnastics tomorrow. And she has no fugging clue that she’s the worst sort of
person. You’re so lame, Viper, that you can’t even stand yourself.
The Dueling Divorced – I debated whether or not to use this
as a category. I decided to because it is definitely a treasure trove of good
writing material. When both parents of another poor gonna-be-so-embarrassed-tomorrow teen showed up in one classroom,
the way they competed with each other was comical. No one else even tried to
raise their hands during the 2 minutes of questions at the end—the divorcees started
raising theirs before the teacher even got halfway through the 8-minute
presentation. Really, if you want to prove to everyone in the room that you’re
an attentive parent, then stay the hell married. Don’t try to one-up your ex by
asking repetitive questions regarding logistics of your fugged up 2 family schedules.
Because people like me sit in the back and watch you with amusement and think: “So…you
would take a bullet for your daughter, but you refused to keep your family
together for her sake.” Nice. You’ll be in my next book, hypocrite.
So don’t get
me wrong, I happen to love Psycho-Mommies. I don’t want to hang around them or
be their friend, but they are ripe entertainment for when I’m sitting in a gym,
rink, field, etc. Try it next time you’re bored to tears at an event. Even if
you’re not a writer. Pick someone out of a crowd, imagine what is going through
their head right then. What did they do to get here tonight? What will they say
to their children when they walk out of earshot or to their spouse when he gets
home? What aspirations did they (or their own parents) once have before they
became Psycho-Mommy?
Monday, September 29, 2014
Oh the book funk blues
So typically I'm a crafty lady, but today I want to talk about a book. As any book lover is aware of every now and then you hit what some refer to as a book slump. For some reason, no matter what book you pick up you can't seem to get into it. You keep finding yourself reading a page and then putting the book down.
As you relax in the tub, candles lit, glass of wine on the tub lip, pickles in a bowl (yes I eat and drink in the tub, don't judge), your kindle wrapped in its special water proof case, bubbles up to your chin you feel ready. The setting is perfect to dive back into your book.
Even among this perfect setting you find yourself putting the book down. Never mind that this is the fourth book you've attempted to get into and still nothing. No stirring in your chest, no sweaty palms as you wait to turn a page to find out what happens next. Nothing.
Of course, you pop the drain, toss out the wine and put the pickles back in the fridge because what's the point of a relaxing in a bath if you don't have something to read. Okay, maybe it's just me but I only take baths so that I can have me time, and my me time always involves reading. And baths are the only way to get the kids to leave me alone.
Well, that was me in a serious book slump for the last few weeks. I tried over 20 books on my TBR and none of them could shake the book funk I was in. And I was trying books by may favorite authors, George RR Martin, Dan Brown, Colleen Hoover to name a few, and nothing. No sweaty palms, no tension in my chest just a deep seated sadness that I may never read again. I was starting to lose hope, thinking it was the end, that my life was over (yes I am that dramatic so sue me) and then one of my author besties recommended a book to me.
Of course, I was skeptical.
But sure why not, I'd tried everything else what was the worst that could happen?
So I picked up
Even among this perfect setting you find yourself putting the book down. Never mind that this is the fourth book you've attempted to get into and still nothing. No stirring in your chest, no sweaty palms as you wait to turn a page to find out what happens next. Nothing.
Of course, you pop the drain, toss out the wine and put the pickles back in the fridge because what's the point of a relaxing in a bath if you don't have something to read. Okay, maybe it's just me but I only take baths so that I can have me time, and my me time always involves reading. And baths are the only way to get the kids to leave me alone.
Well, that was me in a serious book slump for the last few weeks. I tried over 20 books on my TBR and none of them could shake the book funk I was in. And I was trying books by may favorite authors, George RR Martin, Dan Brown, Colleen Hoover to name a few, and nothing. No sweaty palms, no tension in my chest just a deep seated sadness that I may never read again. I was starting to lose hope, thinking it was the end, that my life was over (yes I am that dramatic so sue me) and then one of my author besties recommended a book to me.
Of course, I was skeptical.
But sure why not, I'd tried everything else what was the worst that could happen?
So I picked up
And OMG, it was the book!!! Archer's Voice by Mia Sheridan was amazing. I missed an entire night of sleep so I could finish it. Not only did it throw me out of my book funk, but it moved to my top ten favorites. This was absolutely the most beautiful love story I've read in a long time. I cry reading books a lot. And this book made me cry first very sad tears because your heart will get ripped out trust me, but then at the end I was crying happy tears and a book has NEVER done that for me. As a matter of fact I read it twice, back to back, because it was that good. So after the good cry fest I reached out to Mia and gushed like a little fangirl to tell her how much her book touched me. Now over a month later and I'm still like this
thinking about Archer's Voice. So if your looking for something that will give you all the feels then this is your book. I warn you though bring kleenex. And be prepared to fangirl, just saying.
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