​REVIEWING AN UN-REVIEWABLE BOOK FROM 2/6/16

For today’s blog, I’m going to try to review the book I finished at 6:15 this morning. But I can’t tell you what the book is because I don’t want the spoilers to give it away. So, what’s the point? There isn’t one, really. This is just a fancy way of venting.

First of all, HEA, PEOPLE (that’s “happily ever after” for the romantically challenged). I’m allergic to non-HEA’s! It’s in my medical records. Go ahead, see for yourself. My daughter’s allergic to shrimp—she breaks out in a rash and stops breathing. Well, same here! I read a non-HEA and my face turns red. I tremble, and I can’t breathe. Snot flies out of my nose. Loud gasping noises escape my throat.

And it’s happening right now.

STILL.

At 10:28 a.m.

And there are only 3 cures:

  1. A Josh Duhamel marathon (minus Safe Haven, When in Rome, Life as We Know It, The Romantics…scratch that. Make that a Transformersmarathon.)
  2. Alcohol. It’s now only 10:33 a.m., so I’d have to wait at least another hour and 27 minutes.
  3. A voodoo doll of the person who recommended this book to me. (Ashley, how are you feeling right now? A bit prickly?)

So, what do you do when you read an awesome book that makes you bitterly angry? Is it still a good book? Is it fair to give it a crappy review? A crappy rating? It’s not the writer’s fault you didn’t like the way things turned out. Is it?

Maybe it is. (Let’s not get me started on Carnage: The Story of Us…)

I LOVE books that make me cry! But ONLY if I’m smiling when it ends. And I’m NOT smiling!!

The “feels” in this book are prevalent. The reader slowly makes it to the Summit of Swoon…only to be pushed off and sent barreling down the other side. IMMEDIATELY. And that’s my issue! I finally make it to the good part, and WHAM! Can’t you give me at least a couple chapters of utter bliss before you rip my heart out?

Guess not.

My shrimp-avoiding daughter, who usually “hates” reading, would probably love this book (she’s not allergic to non-HEA’s like her mother). She actually loved that little book by Ohnjay Eengray (I don’t want to give that one away either). Kill off the main character, and she’ll give the author a thumbs up. I, on the other hand, may give the author a heads up—right before I punch him in his f’ing face.

Sorry, I’m digressing.

The pacing in this book is brilliant (as a writer, it’s enviable). The relationship evolves gradually. It’s realistic. Even if it’s bullshit.

Character development? Spot on. I fell in love with the characters. Even then annoying ones. Except Atricksay.

So back to the sticky plot…unlike Carnage, I can kinda see why this ending is necessary. There. I said it. Happy? But I still don’t have to like it. (It’s fiction!!! A fictional, maybe not-so-believable, ride off into the sunset, puppies and unicorns, happy ending never hurt anybody!)

Breathe

Rumor has it, a movie is in the works. Will I go see it? Of course. Chances are, the filmmakers will add the fluff I so desperately wanted from the book—to the chagrin of the die-hards—even though they’ll probably keep the original ending (please note sarcasm).

I also can’t wait to kick back at the Drafthouse with my bucket-o-beer and watch the unsuspecting theater-goers fall to pieces in front of me. You know, the hand-holders on date night who think, “Hey, let’s see this. It looks cute.” Good luck suckers!

So, what’s the final consensus on the book I shan’t name? It’s good. Really good. And I hate it.

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​EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW TO KICK MY HUSBAND’S ASS AT JEOPARDY, I LEARN FROM ROMANCE NOVELS FROM 1/30/16

I’m sitting in my doctor’s office reading a book with a naked chest on the cover. And you’re judging me. Why is that exactly? Is it because you think I’ll learn more reading Moby-Dick than I will reading Moby’s Dick? What if Moby’s a rocket scientist who likes to talk about work? Take a good look at this “smut” I’m reading. Chances are, there’s a plot in here somewhere. Let’s examine the facts, shall we?

d356b-nascar-drafting-1#1. K. Bromberg’s Driven series. I learned more about racing than any girl who hates racing could ever possibly want to know. At first I didn’t think all the sporty lingo was necessary, but when Rylee donned the little checkered flag panties, it was helpful to know they meant Colton was a “winner.”

Jeopardy Clue: It’s the process of two or more cars moving in close nose-to-tail formation to reduce air resistance and increase speed around the track.

Answer: What is drafting?

3094e-assisi#2. Have you read Sylvain Reynard? If you haven’t, you’re missing out. Dude (possibly dudette–but I’ll save that for another post) can bring forth the tears. Thanks to him/her, I’m a walking Cliff Notes for Dante’s Divine Comedy, which by the way, was the topic for an entire category on Jeopardy not so long ago. It was like Santa came early. And, even better, it reappeared on Final Jeopardy (and anyone who’s anyone knows…nothing beats getting Final Jeopardy!).

Clue: It was Giovanni Boccaccio who added this adjective to another Italian author’s work.

Answer: What is divine? And yes, the look on my husband’s face was divine.

But Reynard doesn’t stop there. If you’re not careful, you’ll learn all about Florence and Assisi too!

1294e-pieta#3. Speaking of Italy, I read this steamy little book by Lisa Desrochers called A Little Too Far. It’s about a girl torn between her step-brother back home and a soon-to-be priest in Rome. Quit scowling. I said step-brother!I learned oodles about Rome and the Vatican Museums. But more importantly, I learned if you decide to confess to an Italian priest that you boinked your bro, your penance will be fifteen Hail Marys and hours volunteering with the smokin’ hot pre-priest across the street.

Clue: Michelangelo delivered on the promise to carve the most beautiful work of marble in Rome with this sculpture.

Answer: Oh yeah…they showed a picture. Of what you ask? The Pieta!

mozarts-geburtshaus-mit-hagenauerplatz_260907#4. Moving north from Italy, Rush by Emma Scott is one of my favorite books. It’s about a Julliard-trained violinist who’s hired as a personal assistant to a super yummy (former) extreme-sport athlete who’s left blind following an extreme-sport accident, and hijinks ensue. Whew! That’s a mouthful! (That’s what she said!)

Clue: In Salzburg you can visit the house where he was born and see such mementos as his childhood violin and his clavichord.

Answer: Who is Mozart? Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

#5. It probably goes without saying, but I’m pretty well versed in the day-to-day life of a dom as well. But I have yet to see BDSM come up on Jeopardy, and I’ve written Alex 50 shades—er, times!

Those are just a few of the invaluable little tidbits I’ve come across during my erotic journey. I’m sure the vast knowledge I’m acquiring may make some of you a tad jealous, but don’t let it. Erotic romance is for everyone! And the next time you see me alone in a restaurant with a questionable book in my hand and a scarlet flush on my face, don’t be so quick judge! I’m just studying!

R.I.P. MR. MORRISON FROM 1/15/16

Two summers ago, my family took a trip to Europe–first stop: Paris–for three nights (which is NOT enough time, BTW). We saw the Mona Lisa and the Eiffel Tower. We drank Bordeaux in outdoor cafes. We watched live jazz. We even stumbled upon Brad Pitt’s Paris premiere of World War Z.

And we visited Jim Morrison’s grave at the Père Lachaise Cemetery. This, I was not on board with. It was my husband’s idea. I thought we were crazy for spending precious time visiting some dead guy I had zero interest in. But my husband was adamant. And as much as I begged, he refused to let me stay behind and café hop. He insisted we all go together–and that we stop for flowers at the conveniently located fleuriste across the street.
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Looking back, that’s one fight I’m glad I lost, considering I love The Doors…now. It’s true. I’ve only loved them madly for about eleven months. In my writing, I tend to do everything backward. Frankie loves estate jewelry, now I love estate jewelry. Darian lives in Miami, now I love Miami (I’ve never actually been there, mind you). During one of my two-hour-wine-driven-brainstorming-bubble-baths (THWDBBB for future reference), I decided Frankie needed to be a Doors fan. Why? Wine.

But even after the wine wore off, the idea stuck. So, guess what? I became a Doors fan.

And now, I’m dying to go back to Paris. Just to spend my precious time visiting a cemetery.