Jake Don't Play

I'm just going to jump into this one. I want to take a moment to rejoice on how this omnibus collection of Elizabeth Peters’s Jacqueline Kirby mystery series saved me from the awfulness of Nightshifted, but I figured I would sweat this topic out if I tried. Therefore, moving right along…

Kirby had some nice covers

While this Jacqueline Kirby omnibus contains the first three books in her series (there are four total), I only read the first book, The Seventh Sinner. I’m in the process of digesting this series in extensive bites, much like Elizabeth Peters's Amelia Peabody series. Speaking of which, the interesting thing that I felt after reading The Seventh Sinner was that I actually–no shade intended–liked Peters's Jacqueline Kirby slightly more.  Sure she's less popular than her counterpart Amelia, but man did I brightened throughout each of her appearances.  Maybe it's because Jacqueline didn't complain (or rather bitch and moan) as much as Amelia.  Instead of doing so, she just... well... marched into her own assertiveness without making demands or controlling others.  Her attitude was a humorous, quirky blend of sharp intelligence and assumed inculpability.  Simply put, Jacqueline marched to the beat of her own drum and did it well.

So what is The Seventh Sinner about? An American student named Jean Suttman has taken her fellowship studies in Rome.  Over time she has gathered six other friends/students with six different backgrounds, educational aspirations and life philosophies. Their group is known as the Seven Sinners.  They are made up of renaissance, historian, anthropology and religion-oriented individuals. Some within this group of seven get along better with others, and nothing appears more evident of their group dynamics than the slain body of one member, and fellow student, Albert. Nobody within the Seven Sinners likes Albert. Besides their disgust at his appearance, he’s somewhat of a know-it-all who is constantly tagging alongside the group to push his unsolicited input on their conversations.  While the group explores an underground Roman temple, a lone Jean runs across the dying body of Albert.  It appears that someone cut his throat, effectively silencing him.  However, he manages to scratch his final message on the dirt floor in an attempt to led Jean to his killer.  So the question becomes which student risked his or her future to silence Albert? As well as why?  Librarian and thrill-seeker, Jacqueline Kirby, steps forward to apply her practical assessment of the crime, while keeping Jean safe from a stream of “accidents” designed to snuff her out of the equation.



The Seventh Sinner was written and set in the 1970s, and really, it had a small taste of gothic horror from that period that I love.  Maybe that's another notable difference that I liked about Jacqueline, contrasting to Amelia Peabody’s series taking place in late 19th and early 20th century Egypt.  (Which, to be fair, is perfectly perfect.)  Or maybe my burst of fondness lie in Jacqueline's third-person narrative, as opposed to Amelia's first.  The narrative wasn't spent locked in Jacqueline's head, leaving me excited and unsure of her ideas and motives. Nonetheless, both protagonists are eccentric, funny, impulsive, and intuitive in their detection. And where Amelia Peabody is famed for solving murder mysteries in Egypt with her parasol at hand, Jacqueline Kirby totes around a bottom-less white purse filled with knick-knacks necessary in helping her solve murders in Rome.  Even a knitting kit.  Speaking of which, Jacqueline wasn't even the main character in the book.  Jean was.  But naturally, Jacqueline stole the show.

Thankfully, the mystery itself wasn't arduous and difficult to follow.  It drew me along nicely, and gave me plenty to guess with.  Structuring a pleasurable mystery is all about appealing characters with even more absorbing secrets to keep. The Seventh Sinner provided plenty of the two. Toward the end, I was never quite sure which student committed the murder, and even when it’s revealed, the twist relaying how and why was satisfying.

I will have to say that my biggest complaint with the book came from the heavy dose of historical and religious references scattered throughout the text. Unfortunately, I don't know a thing about the Seven Churches of Asia or San Andrea al Quirinale. I've never been to the Roman road called Via Aurelia, and have certainly never stepped foot in the Callixtus catacombs of Rome. Therefore, needless to say, I had to roll with the punches in many areas of the book. Sure, some character dialogue-filled in some informational gaps but, as it pertains to the exposition, some of the settings never really fleshed themselves out in my imagination. And because I was so wrapped up in the story, I hardly gave myself a moment to reach for my smartphone to do a quick image search on some of the areas populated by the cast.

All in all, I have to say that I enjoyed this book immensely. Jacqueline Kirby with her bottomless purse, cigarettes, love of thriller books, and horn-rimmed glasses was so irresistible that I will gladly come back for more.

I give The Seventh Sinner:

The Universe... Again...

Yeah, yeah and yeah!  I took this from Mike Dooley and have to agree.  I see and talk to a lot of people who seem to be in limbo, waiting on something or some reason to do something.  And you can only talk to them so many times about gathering the resources they have available, and to at least try to make an effort no matter how small.  But one thing that happens when you continue to do that, you start to wait alongside them.  You start to take them on as a frustration within yourself.  You start to soak in those vibes.  It starts to infect your progress–your thinking.  It begins to make you angry.  Then you realize it's not worth it.  None of it.  Especially if you can see that you've come too far in your own progress.  Especially when you've been showing up to your own Life.  Give yourself a pat on the back and realize that you're outside of the 95% margin of people who wait.

The Running Man

Ohhhhh, what can I say about Stephen King's The Running Man? Does anything that hasn't been said come to mind, seeing that it was released in 1982 and underneath Stephen King’s other pen name, Richard Bachman. Hmmm. Well, for starters, the book takes place in the year 2025. The world is heavily dystopian and littered with financial and social status classification problems. The rich get richer. The poor get poorer. Or something to that economic philosophic twist. As a form of entertainment, the wealthy and high-status individuals/companies offer the poorer individuals the chance to earn massive amounts of money by participating in a variety of supposedly entertaining reality game shows.  

A concept that's more or less different than today. 

Nonetheless, the deadliest of these shows is The Running Man; and with an eighteen-month-old daughter ill and slowly dying, and a wife who has resorted to prostitution to gather money for medicine, twenty-eight-year-old Ben Richards decides that he’s had enough of watching his family suffer.  Therefore, he steps forward as a contestant in one of the games, run by one of the aforementioned super companies with economic sway and power. Unfortunate for him, he’s saddled as an enemy of the state in The Running Man reality show. The whole nation is after you in this game. Police, Hunters, average citizens; everyone stands a chance of collecting money off your bounty–whether through your death or capture. However, if you survive 30 days, you are rewarded one billion dollars. Will Ben Richards make it that far?  From chapter 100 counting down to 0, that's the question that keeps you locked to the thrill involved in The Running Man.


I'll keep this quick. I hope…

There’s plenty to take from this angry book; the suspenseful speeding plot/storytelling, the dark themes, the ugliness of a capitalistic society, and the general thrill of it all. It made for a fun, quick read. Something not too involved or complicated for a leisure afternoon reading.  In other words, while it was obviously themed, it was all mostly surface and arguable because of the speeding plot leading the way. 

All the same, I had a lot of grievances with Ben Richards himself.  Those grievances were tied to this pull I had for totally hating him as a character, but admiring his resourcefulness and ability to survive. I mean, I did perk up when Ben was crawling his way through a maze of sewer drains to escape both the police and his self-created arson attack. And some of his confrontational stand-offs with empowered characters were fun.  He expressed his attitude regarding his circumstances as well as his balls to challenge authority without hesitation. And moments where the fast-pace crawled, they were saved by the discussions of dystopian conspiracies.  So that part was cool.

But perhaps it’s the tone of the book–or maybe it’s the voice of Ben Richards’s narrative–that caused me to mostly wince.  I found some heightened hypocritical things going on in The Running Man. See, one minute Ben was sloshing around the n-word to press his disgust of a particularly character in a certain position within the game (a controlling and higher position at that), the next he was deploying the assistance of two black kids to help him out of his situation. One minute he was sloshing around the f-word to press his disgust of a particular character, the next (well, a lot later in the book) he pulled a total reverse in the form of exposition regarding how important it was to put an end to cold bigotry, or what he calls, “queer-stomping“. Then there’s the burly somewhat sideman who presses racially derogatory terms aimed at Irish and Hispanic people. And you know what? Even the black kid takes a returned racial jab at a white character within the book. Really, with all the anger between the rich and poor worth focusing on in a dystopian world charged with economic depravity, I just wished everyone would shut the hell up.

Maybe it’s the stress of the economy. Maybe it’s something else altogether inside of my own hopes and beliefs for mankind.  At the end of The Running Man, I prayed that our real, actual 2025 would have progressed a lot further than some unspecified time within our 1930s. I did enjoy the book; I just didn’t really care for but a small number of characters that helped guide the thrill along. The trap was that I was stuck in Ben Richards’s head, one in which I grew so tired of that I had little sympathy for him toward the end.  Despite appreciating his ingenuity to survive.  My lasting view of him was that he was a part of the problem.

Fix It, Jesus. Urban Fantasy Gone SUPER BAD

I am about to depressurize a little frustration here concerning why I decided to abandon Cassie Alexander’s Nightshifted, after managing to plow through a mere 43 pages.  You're probably thinking that it was just too dreadful to continue; and while I try to refrain from using such an adjective to describe a book, the fact is that it was. Dreadful and awkward. Aimless and just plain ridiculous.

I bought the book last May thinking it was time for some new urban fantasy authors to try. But as always, my reservations were for the level of sex that this genre is known for. Even so, the difference, concerning Nightshifted, lie in its premise. It sounded new and potentially polarizing to other urban fantasy books. I figured it would make an exciting read, though it took me a year and a half to get over my trepidation of the possibilities of "sexi timez with monsters" overtaking the plot (I should have listened to that trepidation). 

See, Nightshifted is about a nurse with a cool name (oh yes, Edie Spence is she) who treats supernatural patients in a secret hospital ward deep underneath the traditional. Supposedly, she’s new to this specialized practice, having yet to understand the blend of her nursing abilities and its role within the supernatural community's healthcare. Now, the book opens with Edie treating a vampire servant who was found lying in some unspecified street during some unspecified time. I honestly don't recall what happened to him, and nor did I get far enough to find out.  Nonetheless, the point is that as he’s dying, he utters the words “Save Anna” to Edie. Before long, he turns to dust. (Don't only actual vampires tend to do this and not their human servants?) So somehow it’s Edie’s fault that she lost her patient, and I’m still unclear how/why besides her jumping on his chest to try to shock his heart into a cardiac beat.  Or some mess like that. So, conversely, the actual details were lacking.  Medically as well as supernaturally.  It just is what it is, I guess.  Anyhow, Edie goes through the vampire servant’s belongings. She discovers three cologne bottles filled with holy water, and a pocket watch with a photo insert of a family (how tiny did the photo have to be?). Later, at home, Edie takes the photo out, and discovers an address on the back. That’s when things got stupider and stupider.  


Because I didn't read the entire book, I'm going to sort of bullet point my issues leading up to my abandoning the book.  Within 43 pages, I had to stop at each scenario before it all got to be too much. THIS AREA IS SPOILER HEAVY!  Though I don't think you'd care if you got this far into the post. 

Issue #1: What’s the point of throwing out the names of medical drugs and further medical terminology if you don’t filter their purpose and definition to the average reader? I don't know what fentanyl (pain reliever, apparently) and Versed (sedative, double apparently) are.  Let alone do I understand how they would affect the treatment of an aged vampire servant, who evidently can disintegrate after death as well as sport fangs just as your standard variety definition of a vampire.  Yet he's a human servant... in pain. In any regard, have your American Medical Associates and Coder book handy! 

Issue #2: Speaking of vampire servants, how did I get to page 43, meet about three other vampires, and still never quite understood what kind of world Edie operated in where she felt the need to confront each one of them while armed with three bottles of holy water and a photograph?  Now, I remind you, she is a nurse.  Not a slayer or demon hunter–at least this early in the book.  Therefore, did she stand to reason with them? Were there any stakes (both the pointy kind and the claims kind) involved with her amateurish investigation? Evidently not on either front, considering she flipped out and began to spray one in the face because he wouldn't let her through a door. There’s a slight disconnect with the world-building as well as the medical theme. And I got this odd, peculiar realization that Alexander was more concerned with writing this sexy, brave heroine instead of a smart one. And one who obviously lived in a world with little rules.

Ain't nobody got time for that

Issue #3: If within twenty-four hours two different vampires (one being a vampire servant–which seemed no different if you ask me) have managed to sink his or her teeth into your hand all the way down to the bone, you do not, I repeat, you do not flash a photograph in the face of the second vampire's attack in an attempt to be released.  Your hand is already injured, which whom he/she is furthering into a state of total mangled-ness. Despite the circumstances, a photograph the size of a silver dollar is not a weapon. Like, come on! What're you doing and why are you doing it this way?  I just wasn't connecting with the functions involved in all of this.  My first instinct would be to fight the vampire off me with force, not attempt to reason with it with a photograph while the SOB is chewing on my metacarpals.  What's even more stunning is that the author tried to play off this scenario by claiming "narcotic vampire saliva" kept Edie somewhat in her right mind to have done otherwise.  STOP THIS!

Is this bish high?

  
Issue #4: You don't call your junkie big brother to meet you at the hospital so that you can hand over the keys to your apartment.  Why did Edie do this?  So that he can "watch" over her apartment and cat while she slides into the hospital to get her bloody hand treated (stitches?). Now, you especially don't do this if he has already tried to hit you up for cash earlier that day via a nasty, distant phone call! HELLO! 

She dumb

Issue #5: Additionally, you don’t steal a camera from a potential crime scene and, afterwards, give it to your junkie big brother with the distinct demands that he pawn the item. But first, (no listen, FIRST) what sense does it make to remove the film from the camera at the crime scene, burn the evidence, and then take the camera itself only to give it to a drug addict? With no instructions regarding the money he receives after pawning the camera, what the hell were Edie’s expectations of him again? BLEACH MY BRAIN!

BLEACH!

Issue #6: Why did Edie call her brother before she went to get her hand treated, anyway? It wasn't an overnight-at-the-hospital situation and, as a nurse, you would assume that she knew this.  However, what’s even more stupid is how she gave her brother the keys to her apartment, and less than a page later, she comes home to find some of her furniture missing. Her cheesing junkie brother peeks around the corner proclaiming, "I was performing an experiment" and "I needed to sell them to afford my final test". Somebody bleach my brain now! 

Fix it, Jesus

Issue #7: When Edie called her brother to watch over her apartment while she got her hand treated, it came with the promise that she would allow him to stay at her place for a few days to keep him from having to stay in a shelter.  I suppose this is her way of considering her inconveniencing him.  Even so, she booted him out once she found out her furniture was pawned. Dear Lord, read her thoughts: 

"It was cold out this morning, tonight'd be freezing for sure. I hoped he made it to the shelter in time. I watched him till he turned at the end of my apartment complex's parking lot, my healing hand throbbing in the cold." 

Besides the fact that it's so obviously freezing outside, and she's safely at home, does she not realize that in order for someone without a home to secure a bed in a shelter, he has to be there at some pre-determined time before 7pm? Really, bish? Really?

I detest you so hard right now

I was creeping along with the squinty face at this point. Knowing good and well that I was about to throw this book. Nevertheless, I went ahead anyway. Just a little. Then this happened… 

Issue #8: Within a day Edie has accidentally “killed” a human servant under her care. With an injured and possibly infected hand, she proceeded to visit the address printed on the back of the photo in his pocket watch. It leads to his apartment. It leads to disturbing photos of young girls in compromising positions. Great. Now let Edie solve this mystery, right? Well, I'm not sure how she ended up at a vampire den, but she did (I zoned out somewhere in there). So what happens there?  She finds the aforementioned Anna chained and being filmed by two vampires. Edie kills one vampire; the other flees. Anna bites Edie.  Anna flees. Edie goes to the hospital to get her hand treated, and in steps in all that fuss I just mentioned regarding her junkie brother.  Once she kicks the brother out, here’s what happens next after a moment of her reasoning with the fact that she's not on-call for the night:

"The ten pounds of weight night shift had put on me hadn't sized me out of my favorite skirt just yet.  I pulled it on, then found a matching shirt that clung in all the right places.  My hair was wavy, shoulder length, generically brown.  My eyes were complimentable blue, and I had a good smile.  I knew when I went out that I wasn't the prettiest girl in the club–but I also knew I could hold my own in someplace with a few shadows where the cocktails were reasonably priced." 

That's right. She went to a nightclub.

This bish has lost it.  I'm done.

Quite possibly one of the dumbest books I've ever read. I now understand why it took me a year and half to pick it up, and why I'm slowly giving up on the urban fantasy genre. The sad thing is that, concerning the genre, I would rather read another Laurell K Hamilton book than finish this. And according to a few reviews, it gets worst, as Edie decides to have sex with a zombie. 

So yeah. I totally can't wait to donate this book to my public library’s bookstore. Thank God I jumped this ship ahead of time and can move on.

Buffy, the Vampire Slayer gifs are not mine.  I don't know the owner, I just know the site in which I'll thankfully credit them.  HERE.

Hex On The A Story

It’s been a couple of years since I picked up the second book in Madelyn Alt‘s “A Bewitching Mystery“ cozy series, A Charmed Death; and even longer since I was introduced to Alt's protagonist Maggie O’Neill in the first book, The Trouble With Magic. I… moderately… enjoyed each book; not quite won over, but not quite unfulfilled.  Nevertheless, I found myself interested not only in the cozy mystery sub-genre the series is written for, but also by the premise of a young witch (though I find that debatable) as the main protagonist doing the sleuthing. While that is nothing new, it was a first for me. (At least outside of Diana Teagarden.) So I enjoyed the first two books just fine, certain that I would proceed forward and stick with the series. 

Unfortunately, it’s been a hot minute since I've picked up book three. Having bought Hex Marks the Spot last June, I've just now decided to give it a go. Why not? It’s been hanging around long enough. And thankfully, I actually enjoyed myself pushing and swallowing down the sweetness of its borderline chick-lit flavor.

Hex Marks the Spot was fun! I even laughed a little.  There were moment of suspenseful reading, and sometimes I found myself touched by the romance elements.  (I have to stress touched and not body slammed by it.)  However… a couple of things did bother me. One was the entanglement of Alt’s A Story, B Story and C Story. The other was a lot more technical, as it relates to the construction of her mystery.

But first, what is Hex Marks the Spot about?  Small town pseudo-witch and magic shop employee, Maggie O’Neill, arranges to tag alongside her boss and local witch, Felicity “Liss” Dow, on a trip to a crafts bazaar. Here they meet residents of the nearby Amish community–one being their close friend and fellow paranormal investigator, Eli Yoder. Bent over a sawhorse in an open horse barn, Eli greets his friends as he goes about crafting bookshelves and end tables for bazaar shoppers. Liss, of course, buys a couple for her shop before spotting an armoire ablaze with a Celtic hex symbol. Interested, Eli has to pass on Liss’s offer as the armoire is wheeled aside to take part in an auction.

Disappointed and unable to pull her eyes away from the hex symbol, both Liss and Maggie curiously wonder when did Eli gather the talent to do such a detailed carving–particularly that of a hex. Apparently, while Eli did his job to build the actual armoire, the hex feature was constructed by another Amish carpenter named Luc Metzger. Besides his talents, Luc Metzger is somewhat of a heartthrob in the Amish community; and my how this nettles Luc's wife. Nonetheless, making a long story short, he’s found dead on the roadside with a busted head and an interesting hex symbol hanging near his body.

Was Luc’s murder religiously motivated? Or maybe Luc’s murder was a result of a fatal attraction? Or, learning that he had a history of romantic side affairs, perhaps his wife finally took him out?
Whatever the answer, his murder pops up on Maggie’s witch radar.

Emma Graham, Once Again

I have never laughed out loud so much during a book until now.

Cold Flat Junction is book two in Martha Grimes’s portrait-esque Emma Graham mystery series. It runs in direct conjunction with the first book, Hotel Paradise. Well, to be precise, just about a week or two in narrative time made up the difference. Therefore, twelve-year-old Emma Graham is still present and strong; decorated in her usual witty, stubborn and cheeky ways. She’s also still obsessing about a 40-years-past “accidental” drowning of a girl her age, as that was the mystery that led her from Hotel Paradise and into its somewhat conclusion in Cold Flat Junction. Tack in another, recent murder (that was also introduced in Hotel Paradise), and Emma is on her Nancy Drew-ish way. Let her tell it, but nobody can convince her that the two murders are not connected.

As always, Emma employs her quick-witted wordsmith abilities to elicit the help of several residents of her town to assist her in her investigation. Dwayne Hayden, the auto mechanic and squirrel poacher, has a shotgun handy; therefore, he’s in top order for Emma to maneuver into bodyguard status. Sheriff Dehgan, Emma’s under-recognized mentor, is back and a little more distant from Emma. This distance worries her, but the truth is that she’s the one keeping secrets (some of those secrets are criminal offenses like obstruction of justice). The eccentric back wood-dweller, Mr. Root, is back to uselessly guide Emma through places she doesn't belong. And on a softer, funnier note, Mrs. Bertha is still complaining about Emma’s ability to be a good Hotel Paradise waitress and cook. Oh, and I couldn’t forget to mention Aunt Aurora, who resides in the fourth floor of the Hotel Paradise. Per standards, Emma continues to pump information out of the irate old lady with a mix of alcoholic drinks used to loosen her mean but venerable tongue.

Ah, I love this atmospheric town and its cast of bright, vivid characters.

Emma pulls hardly any stops as she sets on her quest to find the answers related to the two murders that surround the Hotel Paradise and its history. Hedged with the awareness that she require adults to help her along the way, you can’t help but to admire her captivating charm (as a reader as well as for the supporting characters). However, behind all of that charm and wit, you may also feel the loneliness she emanates. Nonetheless, where Hotel Paradise left matters on somewhat of a cliff-hanger, Cold Flat Junction ties down a few answers, but builds even more questions for Emma and her crew.

Final thoughts…



Let me go ahead and get straight to the point. Cold Flat Junction kind of drug in the last quarter of the book. By that time, even Emma’s spunky personality couldn’t stop the ennui I felt from her repetitious need to continue visiting adults under false pretenses so that she could chip information out of them. It was fun, cute, and clever the first 20 times, and then it got a little too "run of the mill." No doubt that she managed to gather her clues, but there came a point where I needed the mystery to push forward. (It also didn't help when several chapters were dedicated to her spending time alone, fantasizing about a trip to Florida.) But seriously, Emma would recycle her way through pumping some of the same characters for information. However, I must say that this deductive means of investigation seemed a lot more organic and appropriate when you consider the mystery is told through a twelve-year-old girl. Still, toward the end of the book, I'd had my fill and wanted to move along to the end. I don't believe I'm the only one who felt this way.  And also, some readers may grow tired not from the cycling interviews, but more from the point that Emma was always sticking her nose in adults’ business.

Grimes herself.

And that’s kind of where I also realize how some readers may have another problem regarding Emma and the storytelling.  See, there are instances where Emma sort of sermonizes her dislike in adult characters that treat her… well… like the adolescent she is. I don't think I was as smart (though I was adventurous) as Emma when I was twelve, but how she managed to find the right words to discredit those who look over her seemed learned through her ever, secretly candid mother. And I say that whether Emma is accurate or not in her assessment of said adults. Nonetheless, in essence, Emma gathered her guts and ability to criticize adults from her mother; therefore, her doing so didn't bother me at all.  It's only natural. However, I could see in places where it would bother someone to watch this girl stand up for herself, however misguided (or not) she may appear.

Take this scene:

Perhaps recalling that I was alive, Mrs. Davidow said to me, “You won’t mind keeping an eye on things here, will you?”

“Yes,” I said.

For some reason they thought this answer was amusing and laughed.

In retrospect, I think the adults treated Emma like she was younger than even twelve.

Like this moment:

I guess he was making fun of me, but I would ignore that. “Listen: I could meet you out there at Brokedown House. But you’d have to promise that you’d come.”

He [Dwayne Hayden] screwed his face up in the most utter surprise I’d ever seen, except when Will [her brother] was playing innocent. “Promise? You’re talking like you’re doin’ me a favor.”

I shook my hands in impatience. “Well, but will you?”

He paused for some moments, watching me and probably thinking I was crazy. A crazy kid.

I busted into laughter during this scene and many more, nowhere near phased by Emma's attitude.

All in all, I give Cold Flat Junction a solid five stars. It’s not for everyone. It’s not a traditional mystery per se. Hell, even the end was slightly (and I stretch this lightly the world over), dubious. I kind of felt like Grimes didn't give enough clues to shape the sudden appearance of a particularly character. Okay, I tried so hard to keep that last statement as spoiler-free as possible. Even so, man do I love Emma Graham’s voice, the atmosphere, the characters, and Grimes's picturesque writing ability. I feel so lucky to already have the next two books willing and waiting for me to dive back in.

Pardon My Intermissions (Monthly Rambles)

This goes out to all the writers who aspire to be published authors: is it more important to write for you or for readers? I was asking myself this question with Nanowrimo (National Novel Writing Month) coming up next month.  I have to say that I haven’t produced at least ten words each November since joining in 2010. Nonetheless, that doesn't dissuade the fact that I love to write, and am still plugging into writing my long-dreamed mystery novel. 

I take my time because I love writing stories that probably–though I say this with extreme doubt considering the vastness of our universe–strike a chord with me and what it is that I want to read about only. Of course, I want to eventually test the waters and share my material with the hopes that readers would connect. But still, it breeds excitement in me to write something pulled from my raw imagination; something that may be more misunderstood than my daily conversations with social individuals.

But I digress…

So what are the foreseeable advantages of writing for yourself versus others–considering you want to be published? It’s kind of a double-edged question, really. Should you want to be paid and published (or perhaps marketable), you may want to concern yourself with targeting a specific audience of readers. If you just want to trample along the pages, unleashing every curve of your imagination, then you may have to hold on to your material privately.  Especially for the sake of not having to chop and screw the material into publishable form. But who really wants to do either of the two? 

So maybe the better question is how much should you focus on writing for yourself while keeping readers in mind?

Towel did not win him over. And I knew she wouldn't.

This is something I questioned back in early 2009 when I tried to find an agent for a book I'd written. In response, the agent's first criticism was that he didn't like the names of my characters [Towel and Cornbread], names which were nicknames for characters who've lived inside my head for years.  I've written about the two many times before, but at that moment I had spent nine months drafting and editing the two an urban fantasy story with a touch of Buffy intact.  Or enough Buffy that I just knew their story was markable, despite their names. Nonetheless, I took his words gracefully, because inside and from the very start, I kind of knew it would be an issue. I suppose I just didn't care, having lived all the wildness of my fantasies on paper and through these characters for nine months.

So my ending thought is that sometimes you have to write the raw stuff for yourself, and the other stuff with readers outside your realm of strangeness in mind.  Then again, sometimes you just have to change the names, tweak a little bit more, then try again.

Ramble Ending.  Signing Out.