Yes, yes, I know. Two posts in under a week. I AM ON A ROLL. (Speaking of rolls, wanna go for donuts ...? I'm freakin' starving. What -- donuts and rolls are related. Right? Hell, in my world, everything's related to donuts.)
So, YEAH -- about a year ago, I stumbled upon a blog that is an equal ratio of awesome and paint thinner, and I became a rabid-bordering-on-stalkerish follower of everything the blog's owner had to say. As you may or may not know, I occasionally review books for LitStack.com, a fine site for all things bookish. I'd review more books, but book reviews take a lot out of me. Like, a lot. I can't eat the donuts fast enough or maintain my coffee-to-blood quotient, even with a straw, to compensate for the energy I lose when I write a book review.
"But, Jenn, that's so lame -- I write a book review every single day on my blog."
Well, that's because you're better at it than me. Or at the very least, faster. Because my book reviews are pretty awesome, I must say. (Aaaaaaand I think I just pulled a muscle patting myself on the back. Just put a donut on it. Maple eases cramps. Ahhhhh, perfect, thanks.)
No, what I mean is, I try to review awesome books. I've read a lot of books in the last few years that I never mentioned another word about. Why? 'Cuz they sucked. I'm a hypocrite, I know -- a reviewer is supposed to provide positive AND negative feedback so that book buyers know what to grab and what to slide past. But ... I'm also a writer, and I don't need to piss off other writers by coming out and saying, "Well, yeah, this and that and this other thing really sucked about this book." Can you imagine the lynching? It's bad enough that I've made such fun of a certain writer of sparkling vampires. (Dude, I totally can't help it.) Maybe when I have a real career behind me, I can rip and shred without impunity. But for now, I provide what are more aptly called "recommendations" as I don't want you to waste time nor pennies on suckage. Life's too short. Pennies are too hard to come by. And I am super hard to please. I just am. I was born that way.
THE POINT IS (God, this used to piss my ex-husband off, how I ramble circuitously -- of course, the fact that he didn't know what the word "circuitous" meant is one of the reasons we're divorced. Well, that and the fact that he cheated on me ... oopsie!), is that the Amazing Blog Dude I mentioned above wrote a BOOK, and his publicist sent LitStack a review copy with the option of an interview on the side. Then my editor, a charmer named Tee, e-mailed and said, "Hey, who wants this?" And I jumped up and down in my chair, arm almost reaching the cobwebs on the ceiling light fixture (I have long arms), bouncing so hard one of the screws fell out of the bottom of said chair and I tumbled to the ground and chipped a tooth and impaled my cheek on the dislodged screw. But it didn't MATTER because I wanted Tee to pick ME.
And she did! Yay, me!
So, CHUCK WENDIG wrote a book, called Blackbirds. Here's the summary from his publisher Angry Robot:
Miriam Black knows when you will die. She’s foreseen hundreds of car crashes, heart attacks, strokes, and suicides.
But when Miriam hitches a ride with Louis Darling and shakes his hand, she sees that in thirty days Louis will be murdered while he calls her name. Louis will die because he met her, and she will be the next victim.
No matter what she does she can’t save Louis. But if she wants to stay alive, she’ll have to try.
And in response to this book, I wrote a REVIEW, found on LitStack.com.
When you're done with the review, done with sprinting to Amazon to buy the book, then you can read the INTERVIEW. Why? Because I ask really important, mind-blowing questions and Chuck is, well, fabulous. (Although, I must admit, the guy from LitReactor did a better job with his interview. GAWD! SUCKS! I NEED CHAPSTICK! Aaaaand, scene. Thank you, Napoleon Dynamite!)
Guys, DISCLAIMER (if you need more warning than what the review provides for you): Chuck Wendig sees the world through a rather twisted lens, and his comedy is not for those of you who blush and say, "Oh my, that boy is so rude" whilst cooling yourself with your Delta Burke-inspired, Georgia-peach, articulated fan. That is why I think he is my long-lost brother and I am his long-forgotten, not-nearly-as-funny, slightly-older sister who was left at the Orphanage of Funny-looking Babies. Hey, we all have idols, right? Even though it's against God's law? Admit it. You want your ass to look as good as Beyonce's, your wife to look at you like I look at Mark Strong, your words to flow like [insert favorite author here]. IDOLS. YOU'VE GOT THEM. You're stronger for confessing. Here, have a donut.
So, yeah ... there you have it. PROOF that I do indeed work. There is other proof, but I can't show it to you yet because a proper girl never shares her secrets. You're just going to have to take my word for it.
Xs and Os ...