The BookFetish Blog

I’m thrilled to have a chance to talk about Cristyn West’s Plain Jane. I love a good serial killer story, and Plain Jane is one that doesn’t disappoint.

Someone’s murdering brunettes, plain, ordinary women with seemingly nothing in common.  The cops are at a loss, and the somewhat unhinged profiler brought in to help is wreaking havoc on the investigation. Not only are Kent Harbinger’s methods unorthodox, his complicated past with Detective Nicole Usher doesn’t make things in the investigation any easier.

The killer takes a macabre trophy from each victim, which is only the first touch of the creepy and slightly sickening (in a good way) tidbits that West throws into the mix.

Plain Jane is one of those stories that had me rooting for the good guys. Harbinger’s a genius, and while I loved getting inside his head a little bit, I was also a little repulsed by why I found there.  That’s a twist you don’t often get with heros. Sure, they’re flawed in some way, but West’s Harbinger  highlights how thin the line between madness and sanity can be.

The other real treat in this story is that I didn’t figure out who-done-it.  I love being surprised in thrillers, and Plain Jane did not disappoint.  Our killer is also delightfully mad, as serial killers tend to be.  It was a nice surprise to be surprised in the end.

I don’t want to say anything else at this point- after all, spoiler free is the best way to read any mystery- so I’ll leave you with this.  If you’re looking for a thriller that will make your heart race and make you excited to turn the page, then Plain Jane is the read for you.

Thanks for stopping by- and keep checking out other titles in IBC Blog Tour de Force.

It is somehow appropriate that as I’m writing this, Real Housewives of Orange County is playing in the background.  Appropriate because Rachel Thompson is about as real as it gets, and couldn’t be farther from the ladies of Bravo.

The contrast between the two is striking.  For everything fake on the ladies on TV (and I’m not being critical here- if it works for them, go for it) there’s an authenticity to Rachel’s writing.  You feel like you know her. You wonder why it is, exactly, that you aren’t sitting on the patio with her sipping a martini, because aside from the fact that you don’t actually know her and live on opposite sides of the country, reading A Walk In the Snark feels like you’re talking with a very good friend.

Rachel’s trademark snark is what draws you in. If you head her blog, Rachel in the OC, then you’re familiar with Rachel’s take on the Mancode (Male speak for nearly anything), all things Prada, the coolness of Pat Benatar, and the power of a perfectly prepared martini.  She talks about all these things in the book.  I found myself smirking more than once, nodding at the familiarity of it all.

And I love the snark.  I can be quite snarky myself. But where I feel Rachel really shines is in the few places where she’s quite poignant.  Without divulging spoilers, I want to talk a little bit about Rachel’s recounting the sudden entrance and tragic exit of an ex back into her life. I really appreciated the vulnerability and genuine emotion Rachel shares in these passages about D.

I know that’s not a trademark of snark, but the introspection actually made me appreciate the snark more. Much like life, it takes going through the sad, awful, terrible stuff to appreciate the mundane, the ordinary, the simple things that are really quite spectacular in the way they make you love and laugh.

A Walk in the Snark is a series of essays so it is a perfect on-the-go read.  When you have a few minutes, take in a quick story.  Nod to yourself when she talks about the crinkled paper towels on the counter, or the importance of Prada shoes at a football party. You won’t be disappointed.

You can get your copy of A Walk in the Snark here.

With all the news about the escaped Cobra at the Bronx Zoo, the ladies over at Bitches on a Budget yesterday asked their Facebook fans how they feel about snakes.

I have some snake jewelry I love. My Native American birth sign is a snake. I always visit the reptile house at the zoo (although, god help the person who accidentally touches me while I’m in there). That being said, I’m terrified of snakes. TERRIFIED. When I was young, I stepped on one. Although I was no fan before that moment, I believe that incident prejudiced me against snakes forever. And before the naysayers start in, yes, I know some snakes are good. I’m generally live and let live with them, provided I don’t actually SEE them. If I see one, even a good fake one, I jump up on something and scream like a girl. I own that.

So you can imagine, I was less than thrilled to find a snake in my kitchen one summer evening a few years ago. Here’s what happened. I had been out to dinner and, after getting home, decided a DVD viewing was in order. To accompany that, a Diet Coke. I start walking into the kitchen, and see something in the corner right where the wall of the kitchen meets the wall of the living room. “What’s that rubber band doing on the floor?” I think to myself, and start to bend down to pick it up. And then I freeze. My heart jumps, and I yelp. Because what I see is not a rubber band. No, it’s the tail end of snake. This snake:

Now I start seriously freaking out. It’s alive. But how did it get in? The cat and dog are both ignoring it, so I’m thinking they don’t know it is there. There are only three things I am certain of at this point: First, the snake and I cannot both stay in the house, and since I pay the mortgage, the snake should be the one to leave . Second, if I don’t make a picture, no one is going to believe me. Third, if the dog and the cat figure out the snake is there, the chances of me staying and the snake leaving decrease significantly, at least for a while. So I corral the dog and the cat in the bathroom, and grab the camera out of the drawer to make the picture. All the while, I’m trying to figure out how this snake is getting out of the house.

At this time, I don’t know any of my neighbors, so asking them for help? Out of the question. I call the guy friend who lives closest to me. He’s out. I realize, it is going to be all on me. So I ring my friend Michelle, for moral support. She offers to come help me, but since she lives forty-five minutes away, this really isn’t an option. “Just stay on the phone with me while I get it out, OK?” I ask her.

My genius plan is to open the front door and sweep the snake towards it. By sweep, I mean me holding the tip of the broom handle and standing as far away from the bristles as I possibly can. And to (hopefully) give me a slight advantage, I’m going to throw a dish towel down over the snake. Confuse it. And here we go.

I throw the towel down on the snake and make a big sweep forward. The snake lunges out from under the towel and shoots forward. I scream like a girl and lob the towel down over it again. And I make another huge sweep towards the front door. Michelle’s squealing in sympathy with me over the phone. Finally, we’re by the front door and I make the third sweep,… and the snake gets stuck on the doormat just inside the open door. And he’s squirming and he’s angry and I just KNOW he’s about to dive for cover somewhere in the house and I’ll have to move.

I do the only thing that comes to mind. I flip the broom, holding at the bristled end now, with the handle pointing towards the front door. I use the handle to lift the doormat, and fling both it and the snake out the front door as far as I can. I see them both fall onto the driveway, and the snake slither away.

I slam the front door, and go back to the phone, as Michelle asks me “Did you lock the door?” Like an unlocked door was how the snake got inside in the first place. I said yes, hung up the phone with Michelle, and poured what is quite possibly the largest glass of wine I’ve ever had.

And that, my friends is how I managed to get the snake out of my house, without keeling over in a dead faint.

There’s been a lot of talk in the book blogosphere lately about “indie authors” and self-published authors.  The terms are being used interchangeably, but the more I read about them, the more I thought they might be different.

So, I sent out a question on my Twitter feed.  I interact with a fair number of people in the publishing (or a related) industry on Twitter, and they confirmed my suspicions.

According to my sources, self-published authors might call themselves “independent” in the sense that they are not aligned with a publishing house, but Independent authors are really associated with an independent publisher rather than one of legacy houses.  If you don’t know, in a typical publishing arrangement, the publishing house provides some degree of services to the author- editing, perhaps some marketing, etc.

A self-published author owns all facets of publishing a book.  If the author wants assistance with cover design or editing services, they must solicit them. They are responsible for all production and marketing costs. Of course, they also reap all the profits.

So why the controversy? After all, self -publishing has been around for a while.  Well, with the advent of eReaders, it has become less cost prohibitive for authors to produce their books.  So several authors are circumventing the traditional publishing route and publishing their own eBooks.  Similarly, some authors who may not have been picked up by the big, traditional publishing houses are being picked up by the Indies.  And folks, some of these are really good.  Thirty Pieces of Silver, which I reviewed here a few weeks ago is one such Indie book that I loved.

There’s a stigma about being self-published, though. Some people assume that an author who self-publishes wasn’t “good enough” to be picked up by an agent and publisher. And that may or may not be true. That’s why, I think, some people who self publish prefer to call themselves an “indie” author. Because while some self-published books are well edited and very good, some are not. There was quite a viral post earlier this week where a self-published author’s book was reviewed. The review was largely complimentary, but the numerous typos, grammatical errors, and awkward sentence structure were noted. The author took great offense to this observation, verbally attacked the reviewer in the blog comments, and suffered an unintentionally funny and ultimately sad meltdown.

So what’s my point in all this?  Well, first, I want to be correct whenever I talk about a book’s publishing origins, and I’m glad to know now that Independent and Self-Published do not mean the same thing.  But I also want to encourage you to check out independent and self-published authors. Smashwords and Amazon both have a lot of choice for eBooks. All you need is a computer- you don’t have to have an eReader. These books are often less expensive, and in some instances, you can check out an excerpt for free. Who knows why an author may not be picked up by a publisher? That doesn’t mean the work is bad.  On the other hand, don’t expect every self-published author to be well-edited.

Finally, to me, there is no stigma in being self-published. If you’re going to be brave enough to do it, own it. Be proud you took the chance. And similarly, check out some independent authors. You never know who you might discover.

The Truth About Dating

Julie Christensen

Thirty-eight year old Quinn Malone is tired of sitting home alone, watching Jersey Shore and doing crossword puzzles. She’s also tired of being single, and decides to make finding a man her top priority. The Truth About Dating recounts Quinn’s endeavors, from Match.com to speed dating, to the dreaded blind date. Quinn details the the madness of dating, from excitement to exhaustion, and depression to acceptance.  As Quinn looks for her soulmate, she also begins to understand more about herself.

Julie Christensen could have written this book about me.  Seriously.   Anyone who has been in the dating game, especially over the age of 30, can identify with Quinn.  And the dating experience is spot on.  The easy email conversation of online dating that makes you think “hey, this guy seems cool” Then you meet him, and there’s no chemistry.  Or sorting through the emails from potential matches, where you wonder “did they even read my profile?”

The humor of an impossibly bad date. The disappointment when the one guy you do like doesn’t feel the same way about you.  The commentary-solicited or not- from everyone in your life about why you’re still single.  The sheer exhaustion of dating.  Figuring out how to be yourself and make yourself happy while learning how someone else fits into your life.  And the realization that the happy ending you get may not be the one you always thought you would have.

This isn’t a typical chick lit book. But I think anyone still single long after they thought they would be will enjoy this one.   The one thing that annoyed me about the book was the number of typos that I saw. Certainly not one on every page, but the kind of thing that makes you go, “wait, what?” while reading.  Still, that’s more of a warning to be prepared, and not a caution against reading the book.

As a side note, there may be a “Thinking” post about things I realized and recognized while reading this book.