Today, I should have written coffee instead of tea, but I'm just going to roll with it. I'm going to start this post with a rant. I almost used the obscene gestures picture, but this one seemed a lot more personal.
My friend Lisa made that cup, and I love drinking out of cups made by my friend Lisa.
Actually, I love drinking tea out of any cup someone invested time, effort, and creativity in making, but Lisa's mugs are currently the only hand made mugs I own.
Coffee, tea, and other warm beverages definitely help limit the number of mauling incidents. It's a bit like feeding the velociraptors. If you feed the velociraptors, they might not eat you.
So, back to the subject of rants.
As many of you are aware, I have depressive tendencies (which in turn leads to depression), which occurs in episodes. I use a lot of methods to control these tendencies, but I usually keep one or two prized books around to break the cycle.
I read this new, prized book, and it makes me ridiculously happy as I indulge in something highly anticipated and expected to be beloved.
Sometimes, this backfires.
This is the case with Amanda Bouchet's Breath of Fire. I've been sitting on it since its release, for that rainy day when I just need to do SOMETHING to turn everything around.
I chose poorly.
I hated the book. Right from the beginning, from the domestic emotional/mental abuse to the borderline sexual abuse to the forebeating of the book's ending… (Yeah, the book jumped the shark pretty quick on the extremely obvious foreshadowing, to the point if you didn't get what was going to happen by the end, you weren't paying attention–probably because your brain was struggling to comprehend how chapters 1-3 could possibly be that bad.)
I made it to the start of chapter 13 before I tipped the hat, skipped to the end of the book to confirm the forebeating I had endured, and shelved it as ‘I will probably never actually fully read this book.'
It was one of my few preorders for 2017.
I still have hope 2017 will not be a complete bust in the preorder department. Here's my list: White Hot (Ilona Andrews), Assassin's Fate (Robin Hobb), Faith Hunter's next Jane Yellowrock book (I'm sure it has a title, I just forgot because I preordered that long ago), and Mercy Gets a Turn at Getting Kidnapped (Patty Briggs), and Wildfire (Ilona Andrews again.)
I still have a TBR pile of approximately 500 books, all of them I got on free book binges. I expect 498 or so of them will contain excessive amounts of erotica, since that's what happens when the words shifter, Alpha, or billionaire enter a search box on Amazon. I expect 450 or so of them will be tolerable reads.
For the record, I filter to 4* above to keep the erotica at least mostly limited to tolerable reads–and sometimes even exciting reads my husband later appreciates.
I bet you didn't want to know that. Hah! I'm not sorry. (Neither is he.)
(In case you haven't guessed, he totally doesn't read my blog.)
My editor is halfway done Playing with Fire. So, rejoice! A real book is coming out soon. It is also the result of what happens when an urban fantasy thriller author tries to write a romantic comedy but can't stop the body count.
I'm not sorry.
Now, if I could just get out of this slump I'm in, that'd be great.